THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/C® 


THE    LAWGIVER 


OTHEE  POEMS. 


BY  MISS  JAM  ROSEBOOM. 


Let  Fate  do  her  worst:  there  are  relics  of  Joy, 
Bright  beams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy, 
And  which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
To  bring  back  the  features  that  Joy  used  to  wear." 


HILLSDALE, 
PUBLISHED     BY     THE     AUTHOR. 

1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

Miss  JANE  EOSEBOOM, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


W.    8.    GEORGE    ft    Co., 

Printers  and  Binders, 
LANSING,    .    HICHIOAN. 


JL 


DEDICATION. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

MY    LOVED    MOTHER, 

WHOSE  SPIRIT  LONG  SINCE  FOUND  REST  IN  THE  BETTER  LAND, 

AND  "WHOSE 

TENDER  CARE  AND  SYMPATHY  ARE  STILL  CHERISHED  IN  MY  HEART, 
WITH  ALL  THE  FULLNESS  OP 

THAT  MOTHER'S  LOVE  CHEERING  ME  ONWARD 
THIS  LITTLE  BOOK 

IS     MOST    A.FFECTIONATEL  V 

DEDICATED. 


762867 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

PRELUDE 7 

THE  LAWGIVER 9 

THE  CRUCIFIXION- 40 

THE  GEHENNA  or  FIRE 46 

TO-DAY 5O 

SEPULCHRE 93 

TRUST  IN  SUPBEME  RELIABILITY 55 

SECURITY 57 

FIGURE  OF  THE  SUFFERING  OF  DEATH 59 

THE  SPIRIT  RETURNS  TO  GOD 61 

DBSTINY  OF  THE  WICKED 63 

DESTINY  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS 65 

UNSEEN  GLORIES 68 

FINAL  DESTINY, 71 

IMPABTIALITY 76 

INEFFICIENCY  OF  MOON  AND  SUN 81 

THB  FASHION  OF  THIS  WORLD, 84 

THE  PBOMISED  LAND 86 

THE  PABABLE  OF  JOTHAM, 89 

THE  Two  TALENTS 92 

RESPONSE  TO  AN  INQUIBING  BROTHER 95 

THE  WEEPING  MOTHEB 97 

THE  SABBATH, 99 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MY  MOTHER, 101 

THE  TBAB-DBOP, 1O4 

DEAR  MABIA 103 

A  SENTIMENT Ill 

IF  LOVE  ALONE 112 

I  WOULD  NOT  BE  WITH  LOVE,  ETC 114 


Contents. 


PAGE. 

ONE  OF  MY  DAYS  ALONE 117 

THE  SAINTED  VISITANT 120 

To  MY  FRIEND  H 124 

.THE  THIRD  FLOWER, 127 

HAPPY  NIGHT 131 

THE  STILL  SMALL  VOICE 133 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  PHYSICIAN 135 

To  MY  AXJNT, 137 

THE  DEAF  GIRL'S  LAMENT, 140 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT,     .             143 

WHERE  SHALL  I  FIND  PEACE  ? 145 

THE  MOTHER'S  REPLY, 146 

SEED-TIME, 148 

THE  DYING  GIRL, 150 

MY  VALUED  FRIEND 153 

THE  VOICE  OF  GOD 156 

SECOND  MARRIAGE, ,  159 

MY  NATIVE  STATE,    ..........  162 

LITTLE  TUDIE, 165 

A  DREAM 167 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  YOUNG, 169 

THE  OCEAN 172 

THE  LONELY  SISTER, 174 

THE  YOUNG  BRIDE, 176 

THE  BEGGAR  BOY, 178 

MY  FRIEND  M 's  MARRIAGE  Vow 181 

THE  LITTLE  ONES .      .      .      .  185 

FATHER'S  OLD  TUNE 187 

I  NEVER  LOVED  BUT  ONE, 189 

MY  THANKS, .      .      .      .191 

NIAGARA  FALLS ..',., '- "v     .      .  193 

MY  OLD  Box,         .      .       .       .       . 195 

OUR  SOLDIER  BOY, 198 

WAR'S  DREADFUL  SCOURGE 200 

PEACE,  NOT  WAR 203 

THE  DECEASED  SOLDIER 205 

THE  WAR  FIEND, 209 

FAREWELL, 212 

EPITAPHS, ,  215 


PRELUDE. 


To  the  natural  eye,  as  we  contemplate  the  vast  field  of 
Literature,  we  say,  "  Of  books  there  is  no  end,  yet  the 
world  is  not  full." 

Enthusiasm,  with  its  rising  progress,  will  ever  com- 
mand its  own  on  the  calendar  of  reason. 

My  own  little  book,  filled  with  sheaves  which  I  have 
gathered  from  my  own  garner,  owing  to  the  edicts  of 
an  over-ruling  Providence  I  offer  to  the  public.  I  can 
see  no  reason  for  an  apology.  Hope  has  laid  her  corner- 
stone; whilst 'Faith,  like  a  day-star,  has  guided  me 
onward. 

Results  have  their  fastening  in  the  dim  future,  and 
I  can  only  do  that  which  I  believe  to  be  right,  even 
though  I  tremble  before  the  mighty, 

How  am  I  to  be  judged,  how  am  I  to  be  spoken  of, 
are  matters  to  which  I  am  truly  sensitive;  yet  I  can- 
not, for  one  moment,  feel  that  there  are  those  among 
you  who  would  cast  upon  me  a  dark  frown,  or  criticise 
with  an  eye  too  severe  for  endurance;  though  yours  is 
the  right  to  criticise,  and  mine  to  bear  it. 


THE  LAWGIVER. 


BENEATH  the  welkin  broad  and  blue, 
And  pure  as  heaven's  unchanging  hue, 
The  beams  of  morn  and  zephyrs  mild 
Caressed  the  river-floating  child. 
Like  dew  upon   the  flowers  at  dawn, 
Or  freshest  verdure  of  the  lawn, 
So  on  his  brow  sat  smiling  grace, 
And  beauty*  gleamed  upon  his  face. 
By  chance  the  ark    upon   the  tide 
The  king's  fair  daughter  soon  espied, 
And  with  a  tender,  anxious  heart, 
To  bring  it  bade  her  maid  depart, 
And  soon,  impatient  of  delay, 
They  brought  the  little  boat  to  bay, 
Deep  wondering  what  such  casket  kept. 
A  little  child!    Behold!    it  wept. 
2 


10  The   Lawgiver. 


The  maiden's  love  the  babe   embraced, 
And  on  a  mother's  bosom  placed; 
Nor  little  thought  she  of  the  state 
Existing  'tween  the  small  and  great. 

As  the  deep  waters  smoothly  glide, 

Far  from  the  torrent's  angry  tide, 

So  yields  the  will  to  destiny, 

And  maid  and  matron  both  agree, 

A  secret  dearer  far  than  gold, 

That  mother's  joy,  was  left  untold, 

While  fondly  with  her  lips  she  pressed 

The  infant,  folded  to  her  breast. 

Lo!    Miriam's  watch  and  wiser  skill 

Brought  back  the  boon  more  lovely  still ; 

A  precious  gem  for  Israel's  brow, 

To  which  both  king  and  priest  should  bow. 

When  all  his  infant  days   were  done, 
And  childhood's  years  had  just  begun, 
The  princess  claimed  again   the  boy: 
The  mother  yielded   up  her  joy, 
But  as  a  flower  transplanted,  there 
On  richer  soil  to  bloom  and  bear, 


The   Lawgiver.  1 1 


With  filial  love  his  bright  eyes  beamed, 
And  wisdom  from  his  visage  gleamed. 

JThey  at  proper  age  did  place 
The  youth  or  of  the  kingly  race, 
At  the  Egyptian  court,   where  he 
Abode  most  eminent  and  free; 
A  life  of  rank  and  lustre  lay, 
As  'twere,  athwart  his  sunlit  way. 
Perchance  to  him   a  kingly  crown, 
Glist'uing  with  glory  and  renown, 
Should  yet  descend. 

Hail,  man   of   God! 
Upon  the  fair,  broad  earth   ne'er  trod 
One  who  could  thus  a  throne   forego, 
A  true  pre-eminence  to   show. 
His  manhood  brought  him  back   to  stay, 
As  he  was  wont,  upon   a  day, 
Among  his  brethren,  kindred  dear, 
Who  knew  not  of  the  tie  so   near. 
But  sudden  ill  did  then  provoke, 
And   on   his  inmost  spirit  broke. 


12  The  Lawgiver. 

A  harsh  Egyptian's  cruel  hand 

Did  smite  one  of  the  Hebrew  band. 

That  fiendish  act  he  clearly  saw,— 

A  brother  smitten  without  law. 

It  caused  heroic  zeal  to  burn ; 

He  'gainst  the  foe  did  madly  turn ; 

Who  then,  for  doing  thus,  was  doomed. 

Soon  slew,  and  in  the  sand  entombed. 

Though  hushed  those  deep  and  deadly  blows, 

Swift  and  appalling  fear  arose. 

So  madly  had  he  loved  his  own, 

This  princely  state   was  now  a  loan 

To  be  repaid,  that  with  a  meek, 

True  soul,  he  Israel's  good   might  seek. 

Nor  was  he  all  alone;    the  ear 
Of  Majesty  was  drawing  near. 
He  heard  the  groanings  as  they  came 
From  His  beloved;   and  he  the  same 
Eespect  had  then  as  e'er  before 
Their  fathers  he  had  shown  of  yore. 
It  came  to  pass  that  on  a  day 
The  exile  with  his  flocks  did   stray 


The   Lawgiver.  13 

Far  back  into  the  desert  space; 
To  man  'twere  like  a  hiding  place. 
Lo!    there  a  fiery  flame  upreared; 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  appeared, 
And  in   a  form  most  wondrous  came, 
For  it  was  like  a  burning  flame 
From  out  the  wayside  bush,  and  so 
The  Infinite,  in  wondrous   glow, 
Vouchsafed,  not  to  intimidate, 
But  mingled  so  most,  intimate. 
Then  Moses  turned  him  to  the  light, 
That  he  might  more  behold  the  sight, — 
A  burning  bush,  yet  unconsumed. 
The  Lord,  who  there  in  depths  illumed, 
Pronounced,  in  accents  loud  and  clear 
As  ever  mortal  ear  could  hear, 
A  name.     That  name,  how  deep  it  fell 
Upon  his  ear,  no  tongue  can  tell. 
With  trembling  soul  did  he  reply 
To   God  Jehoyah,  "Here  am  I." 
So  trembling  more  he  feared  to  look, 
But  still  with  painful  tremor  shook. 
God  spake,  in  one  unaltered  sound  : 
"The  place  thou  treads't  is  holy  ground. 


The   Lawgiver. 


I've  surely  seen,  my  ear  has  heard, 
My  Hand  Omnipotent  is  stirred; 
And  now  I  have  coine  down  to  give 
Deliverance,  that  they  may  live 
Beyond  the  bidding  of  a  host 
"Who  make  of  cruelty  a  boast. 
As  high  as  heaven  their  groaning's  plain, 
Affliction,  suffering,  and  pain. 


-"Behold  thy  father's  God  at  hand; 
My  oath  with  Abraham  shall    stand. 
For  those  for  whom  I  long  have  cared 
A  home  is  even   now  prepared." 
The  great  commission   then  he  gave 
To  lead  from  Egypt  every  slave. 
But  Moses,  filled  with  modest  fear, 
Cried,  "Who  am  I?   They  will  not  hear.' 
He  paused  awhile,  'mid  fear  and  dread, 
But  soon  by  miracles  was  fed. 
The  God,  the  friend  of   Abraham, 
Plainly  declared  himself,  "I  Am;" 
And  by  his  marv'lous  working  skill, 
Wrought  demonstrations  of   his  will. 


The   Lawgiver.  15 


The  wondrous  changing  of  the  rod 
Evinced  the  constancy  of  God. 

The  gen'rons  hand  that  leads  by  might 
Quells  not  the  soul  in  darksome  night, 
But  in  drear  hours  He'll  yet  console, 
Will  strengthen,  pity,  and  control. 
So  Moses  by  His  hand  was  led, 
As  to  the  Egyptian  court  he  sped; 
And  there  besought  at  Pharaoh's  hand 
Permission   to  the  desert  land 
To  lead  the  Hebrews,  there  to  bring 
Before  their  God  an   offering. 
The  king  replied,  "  Should  I  obey 
His  voice,  and  Israel  go  away  ? 
I  know  him  not,  nor  will  I  show 
Assent,  nor  let  the  Hebrews  go." 

The  ways  of  God  are  always  wise ; 
In  soundless  depths  His  goodness  lies. 
His  knowledge  taught  a  better  way 
Than  princely  skill  could  e'er  essay. 
He  prompted  well  His  people's  heart, 
And  pledged  from  them  He'd  not  depart 


16  The   Lawgiver. 


But  would  on  Egypt  lay  his  hand, 
To  prove  the  living  God's  command. 
Then  Moses  strove  with  Pharaoh  long, 
And  urged  with  kindly  pleadings  strong; 
But  he  by  turns  still  harder  grew, 
After  each  plague  so  strange  and  new, 
Till,  overwhelmed  in  sorrow's  night, 
All  Egypt  cried  for  Israel's  flight. 


"Go,  get  you  forth,  ye  people  all, 
Ye  young  and  old,  both  great  and  small ; 
And  all  your  flocks  and  herds  away. 
Within  these  bounds  no  longer  stay, 
But  to  the  desert  region  go, 
To  serve  your  God  as  best  you  know." 
They,  with  a  willing,  longing  heart, 
Prepared  with  swiftness  to  depart. 
Their  leader,  Moses,  they  obeyed, 
And  from  the  Egyptian  land  they  strayed. 
Round  through  the  wilderness  they  trod 
The  way,  as  spoken  of  by  God. 
The  pillar  of  a  cloud  by  day 
Disclosed  through  pathless  wilds  the  way; 


The   Lawgiver.  17 


And  in   the  darksome  hours  of  night 
A  fiery  pillar  gave  them  light. 
But  when   they  saw  the  host  pursue, 
And    nearer,  closer,   Pharaoh  drew, 
They  deemed  it  had  been  best  to  stay, 
Proud  Egypt's  king  to  serve   alway. 
Spake  Moses  to  the  multitude, 
And  back  their  waning  courage  wooed : 
"  Stand  still,  and  fear  you  not ;    I  say 
Salvation  shall  be  shown  to-day; 
For  the  Egyptians  whom  ye  see, 
With  them  ye  never  more  shall  be. 
So  hold  your  peace;    it  shall  be  true, 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  will  fight  for  you." 

According  to  the  word  of  God, 
As  verified,  he  took  the  rod, 
And  with  an  outstretched  arm  swayed  o'er 
The  deep,  where  angry  surges  roar. 
The  wind  blew  up,  the  deep  fell  back, 
And  left  a  dry  and  sandy  track, 
On  which  the  people  hasted  through, 
Eager  their  journey  to  pursue. 
3 


18  The   Lawgiver. 


On  right  and  left  a  watery  wall; 
Behind,  the  pillar  veiled  them  all. 
Still  Pharaoh  thought  to  follow,  too, 
And  dared  with  chariots  to  pursue 
Down  'midst  the  billowy  deep  profound, 
Where  he  and  all  his  hosts  were  drowned; 
And  thus  it  was  by  judgment  shown 
That  Israel's  God  was  Lord  alone. 


,.  "  THE   SONG    OP   &OSES. 

My  trust  is  in  the  living  Lord, 
And  He  my  strength  shall  be; 

Exalt  His  name,  let  words  of  praise 
Arise,  from  Israel  free. 

The  triumph  is  most  glorious,    3  f»»l 

Thy  ibes  are  overthrown; 
The  sea  has.  covered  each  of  them, 

Whilst  light  to  us  is  shown. 


The   Lawgiver.  IB 


The  chariots  strong,  and  host  so  great, 

Are  buried  in  the  sea; 
Yea,  too,  the  lordly  ones  are   lost 

By  their  audacity. 

Thy  outstretched  arm  and  mighty  hand 

O'erthrew  those  who  arose ; 
"Whom  with  thy  blast  did'st  thou  consume, 

And  their  injustice  close. 

"With  thine  Almighty  breath  thou  mad'st 

The  waters  stand  on  heap; 
So  stood  the  floods  as  if   congealed, 

Like  walls,  the  watery  deep. 

The  enemy  with  wild  delight 

Still  said :    I  will  pursue ; 
My  hand,  my  sword,  shall  yet  destroy ; 

Your  flight  ye  soon  shall  rue. 

Thou  bad'st  the  wind,  the  sea  return, 

They  sank  as  lead  within; 
-So  fell  the  host  of  rebels,  fraught 

With  harsh  inhuman  sin. 


20  The   Lawgiver. 


But  Thine  own  chosen  ones  of  yore, 
On  whom  Thine  eye  was  set, 

Are  safely  now  on  freedom's  soil, 
To  prove  thy  goodness  yet. 


It  was  a  proud,  a  happy  day, 
When  each  broke  forth  in  joyous  lay. 
A  victory  now  they  all  could  boast, 
For  low  were  laid  the  Egyptian  host. 
No  heart  could  boast  its  valor  then, 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  had  fought  for  men. 
Ere  they  could  reach  the  promised  ground, 
Long,  toilsome  years  must  roll  around; 
They  journey  on  from   place  to  place, 
O'er  cragged  hills,  or  barren  space, 
With  two,  uniting  hand  in  hand, 
Beloved  of  God,  in  friendship's  band, 
Who  stood  as  chief  'mid  friend  or  foe, 
Wherever  they  should  stay  or  go. 
God  called  them  forth,  His  voice  obeyed, 
Anon  their  weary  footsteps  stayed. 


The   Lawgiver. 


So  quick  and  sensitive  the  ear, 
That  never  lists  in  vain  to  hear, 
And  never  fails  the  truth  to  know, 
God  caught  the  murmur  deep  and  low, 
That  spoke  the  shameful  doubt  and  fear 
Of  those  He  loved  and  cherished  dear. 
With  all  His  gen'rous  hand  had  done, 
And  all  the  glorious  victory  won, 
They  feared  to  trust  Him  for  their  bread, 
But  raised  a  murm'ring  voice  instead. 
Oh!  frail  and  erring  ones,   to  chide 
Your  only  earthly  hope  and  guide ! 
Who  lent  the  cloud  to  lead  by  day 
Through  all  the  wilderness  the  way, 
A  fiery  pillar  all  the  night 
To  lead  you  through  the  wilds  aright; 
And,  when  shut  up  before   the  sea, 
A  pathway  through  it  made  for  thee! 
Then  think  you  He  would  fail  to  feed, 
Or  keep  you  in   the   hour  of  need? 

But  Israel  sinned,  yet  were  not  they 
From  gift  of  mercy  cast  away. 


The   Lawgiver. 


Jehovah  stooped,  with  love  profound, 
And  strewed  the  manna  on  the  ground. 
"With  grateful  hearts  they  ate  their  fill, 
But  when  athirst  they  murmured  still, 
And  tempted  God,  who  faithful  is, 
O'er  the  long  cherished  flock  of  His. 
Unstable  man!  how  doubts  arise, 
When  blessings  once  escape  the  eyes. 
Has  faith  to  stay  thy  soul  no  power, 
No  charm  to  break  the  darksome  hour  ? 

But  he,  the  leader  of  the  band, 

Who  swayed  the  host  by  his  command, 

Eelying  on  the  God  he  knew, 

From  Him  his  inspiration  drew, 

And  for  the  millions  in  his  care, 

Would  raise  a  supplicating  prayer. 

And  so,  to  him  a  thirsty  spot, 

Where  springs  and  living  streams  were  not, 

Could  but  disclose  majestic  skill, 

And  show  his  sovereign  power  to  will. 

As  when,  with  rod  in  hand  to  knock, 

He  smote  the  hard  and  rugged  rock, 


The   Lawgiver.  23 


The  smitten  rock  gave  way  in  part, 
And  let  the  hidden  fountain  start 
What  fancied  picture  could  portray 
The  depth  of  happiness  that  day? 
No  part  of  dark  oblivion's  night 
Can  quell  the  soul  when  led  aright. 
No  battle  group,  no  fiendish   arm, 
Can  yield  a  pretext  of  alarm. 
When  war  by  Amalek  was  sent, 
Above  to  pray  the  prophet  went, 
To  take  the  rod  of  God  in   hand, 
And  there  upon  the  hill  to  stand. 
And  then,  with  hand  uplifted  high, 
He  saw  the  sons  of  Israel  vie 
So  vig'rously  they  were  not  long 
Discomfiting  the  hostile  throng. 

No  matter  where  thy  path  may  be, 
Some  blissful  buds  will  bloom  for  thee; 
Some  gentle  heart   will  own  thy  smile, 
With  claims  reciprocal  the  while. 
And  was  it  not  a  blissful   scene 
To  find  communion   so  serene, 


The   Lawgiver. 


In  those  drear  wilds,  with  dearest  ones,- 
His  wife,  her  sire,  her  darling  sons 
Whom  he  had  borne  upon  his  knee  ? 
'Twas  joy  that  angels  bent  to  see. 


They  talked  of  what  the  Lord  had  done, 
"What  glorious  victories  He  had  won, 
"Which  heart-felt  gratitude  did   wake, 
As  this  was  all  for  Israel's  sake. 
Thus  Jethro's  mind  was  deeply  stirred, 
Who  uttered  many  a  kindly   word, 
And,  as  a  father  to  his  son, 
Advised  what  there  were  better  done. 
.And  Moses  heard  as  Jethro  spake, 
-And  did  from  many  burdens  break. 
In  union  sweet  their  hearts  were  one, 
O'er  all  the  many  acts  thus  done. 
Then,  called  again  apart  to  dwell, 
Each   kindly   uttered  his  farewell. 


Then   to  the  people  Moses  turned, 
Whilst  deep  enthusiasm  burned; 


The   Lawgiver.  25 


They  move,  and  on  to  Horeb  press, 
To  them  an  unknown  wilderness, 
Until  at  length   the  sight  obtained, 
The  mount  of  Sinai  they  had  gained, — 
That  sacred,  consecrated  height, 
Whereon  was  known  Jehovah's    might. 
In  sight  of  all  the  people  near, 
That  each  might  honor,  love,  and  fear 
The  blest  and  holy  one  of  God, 
Who  dwelt  beneath  his  smile  and  nod, 
God  called  him   up  the  sacred   hill, 
To  take  the  record   of  his  will. 
How  vast  the  work  for  mortal  man! 
Of  such  a  host  to  lead   the  van. 
Approach  to   God  with  reverent  awe, 
And  take  from  Him  his  holy  law, — 
Specific  precepts  plainly  given, 
To  guide  them  on   and  up  to  heaven ; 
To  guide  them,   too,  while  journeying  here, 
And  hold   them   back  from  evils  drear. 
But  who   the  wonderings  could   tell 
Which   even   there  on  Israel  fell  ? 
His  glory   on   the  mountain's  height 
Was  like  a  flame  of  dazzling  light, 
4 


The   Lawgiver. 


His  thunder  trump  the  earth  did  shake. 
Making  the  stoutest  fear  and  quake. 

The  cloudy  vestment  still  abode; 

Full  well  on  Sinai's  brow  it  showed; 

And  with  the  Lord  upon  its  heights 

He  tarried  forty  days  and  nights. 

The  written  law,  on  tablets  strong, 

Was  given  him  to  teach  the  throng; 

And  all  the  works  and  patterns  too 

Were  even  shown  him  how  to  do. 

The  cherub  ark  and  mercy-seat, 

With  measured  length  and  breadth  as   meetr 

To  be  constructed  all  with  grace, 

His  testimony  there  to  place. 

Bat  ere  he  left  the  blissful  seat 
Where  God  he  face   to  face  did  meet, 
Jehovah  said,  "Go!   I  have  known 
Thy  kin  rebellious;    all  have  shown 
Themselves  corrupt  and  very  bold; 
Have  served  an  idol-god  of  gold. 
Now  let  alone  and  stay  me    not, 
My  wrath  against  them  shall  wax  hot; 


The   Lawgiver.  27 


These  I'll  consume  whom  thou  hast  led ; 
A  nation  make  of  thee  instead." 
But  Moses  mercy  still  besought 
For  Israel,  whom  his  love  had    brought, 
"With  outstretched  arm  and  mighty  hand, 
From  the  oppressive,  bitter  land. 
God  lent  to  him   an   ear  that  day, 
And  from  the  evil  turned  away. 

He  then  descended,  took  his  stand, 
With  the  two  tables  in  his  hand, 
Which  on  them  bore  the  written   word, 
Inscribed  as  never  ear  had  heard, 
Done  by  the  hand  of  God  alone, 
Those  table-written  works  of  stone. 
But  soon,  as    near  the  camp  he  drew, 
The  molten  idol-god  to  view, 
His  anger  rose,  one  glimpse  to  take, 
So  much  that  he  the  tables  brake. 
!Nor  did  his  righteous  ire  subside 
Until  he'd  thrown  the  god   aside. 
He  burnt  it  and  to  powder  ground, 
Till  nothing  save  the  dust  was  found; 


28  The  Lawgiver. 

That,  strewed  he  on  the  water's  brink, 
And  of  it  made  the  people  drink. 

To  Aaron,  then,   in  grief  turned  he: 
"What  did  this  people  unto  thee, 
That  thou  has  brought  them  so  to  shame, 
With  wrath  against  them  all  aflame  ?" 
"Let  not  the  anger  of  my  lord 

Wax  hot,"  replied  he  in  a  word. 
"Thou  knowest  those  thou  seest  to-day, 
A  yery  wicked  people  they. 
'Make  us  a  god,'  they  urgent  said, 
'One  unto  whom  our  hearts  can  wed; 
For,  as  for  Moses,  once  so  bold, 
Him  we  may  never  more  behold.' 
'Whoever  hath'— thus  spake  I  then— 
'A  bit  of  gold,  break  off;'    and  when 
They  did,  I  in   the  fire  it  threw, 
And  lo!   this  molten  calf  it  grew." 
Lord,  what  is  man,   that  he'd  devise, 
And  let  such  vain  excuse  arise? 
Did  not  thy  strength  and  wisdom  shine, 
Most  wondrous,  infinite,   divine? 


The  Lawgiver.  29 


Those  on  God's  side  received  the  word, 
Swift  on  them  then  the  sword  to  gird, 
The  foul  rebellion  quick  to    quell: 
'Twas  done,  and  there  three   thousand  fell. 
Then  to  the  remnant  did    he  say, 
"  Now  consecrate  yourselves  to-day." 
Then  to  Jehovah  bent    his   way, 
To  pray,  as  humble  suppliants  pray, 
Him  from  his  book  that  God  would    blot, 
If  he  could  than   forgive  them  not. 
Jehovah  said,    "Who  sin    hath  done 
Against  me,  I'll  blot  out  that  one. 
Now,  therefore,  lead    the  people  through 
To  that  bright  land  I've  promised  you. 
Mine  angel'  shall  before  you  go, 
A  pathway  through  the  wilds  to  show. 
Their  sin  I'll  visit  on   them  still,— 
This    is  my  firm,  unchanging  will. 
I  will  requite ;    a  plague  shall  stay 
Upon  the  people  many  a  day. 

"  Depart,  I  say,  and  go  !    Command 
Those  rescued  from  the  Egyptian  land 


30  The  Lawgiver. 


To  seek  the  place  I  did  prepare; 
It  flows  with  milk  and  honey  there. 
My  presence  still  shall  with  you  go, 
And  rest  unto  you  I  will  show." 
But  Moses  adds  with  ardent  mind, 
Submissive,  generous,  and  kind, 
"Unless  I  share  Thy  presence  thence, 
I  ask  Thee,  carry  us  not  hence, 
And  now,  0  Lord,  if  in  Thy  sight, 
Who  dost  in  mercy  still  delight, 
I  have  found   grace  Thyself  to  know, 
To  me,  I  pray,  Thy  glory  show." 
He  asked,  and  lo!    God  passed  before, 
Proclaiming  all  his  goodness  o'er. 

What  kindness  does  he  ever  show, 
Beyond  what  human  creatures  know  ? 
He  leaves  no  vacancies  to  fill, 
Naught  to  subvert  his  glorious  will. 
Then  spake  He,   "  Hew  two  tables  more ; 
I'll  write  thereon  as  writ  before, 
That   Israel  still  may  know  my  law, 
And   learn  with  rev'rent  awe." 


The  Lawgiver.  31 

And  Moses  with  obedient  hand, 
Submissive  to  his  Lord's  command, 
Prepared  the  tables  all  anew; 
The  Lord,  all-merciful  and  true, 
He-wrote  the  covenant  with  care, 
And  each  of   the  commandments  there. 
Down  from  the  mount  went    Moses  then, 
To  bear  to  man  God's  law  again; 
Where  all  were  awed    by  power  divine, 
Which  made  the  bearer's  face  to  shine. 


As  given    him  upon   the  mount, 

So  he  to  Israel  did  recount 

The  form  as  fashioned  by  each  mark, 

The  cherubs,  furniture,  and  ark. 

And  men,  wise-hearted  men,  were  there, 

Their  part  in   labor  each  to  bear, 

And  work  in  art  of   grandest  mould, 

And  overlay  with  shining  gold, 

Until  the  ark  and    mercy-seat 

With  cherubim  were  all  complete. 

Down   to  the  smallest  pattern  shown, 

That  God    the  copy  true  might  own. 


32  The  Lawgiver. 


They  to  the  goodly  work    adhered 
Till  they  the  tabernacle  reared. 
Each  did  his  work  as  it  should  be; 
As  was  commanded,   "So  did  he." 

Then  earthward  from  the  golden  height 
Came  radiant   beams  of   glory  bright, 
Transcendent  with   a  matchless  hue, 
And  filled  the   tabernacle   too. 
Jehovah's  goodness  brooded  o'er, 
And  blest  them  still  as  oft  before. 
The  fav'ring  cloud  that  day  by  day, 
Should  with  the  tabernacle  stay, 
Should  be  as  fire   unto  the  sight 
Of  Israel  through  the  hours  of  night. 
And  when  he  wished  them  to  pursue 
Their  onward  journey,  it  updrew, 
And  when  they  saw  it  hov'ring  close, 
They  journeyed   not  till  it  arose. 

To   Canaan's  fair  and    fertile  ground 
Were  all  the  host  of  Israel  bound ; 
Unto  that  free  and  goodly  soil, 
Away  from  sorrow  and    turmoil, 


The   Lawgiver.  S3 


With  him  whom   God  knew  face  to  face, 
With  gifts  of  glory  and  of  grace, 
To  lead  them  on,  and  teach   them,  too, 
His  hallowed  ways  so  kind  and  true. 
And  well  he  bore   the  servant's  part, 
In  pure  fidelity  of  heart. 

But  oh!  how  sad   their  wand'rings  were, 
So  soon  again   such  murm'rings  stir. 
Against  Jehovah,  Lord  of  love, 
With  all  His  watch-care  from  above, 
They  did  complain,  nor   would  perceive 
The  way  of  justice,  and  believe. 
So  threats  of  vengeance  did  resound 
Through  fiery  indignation  round ; 
Yet  could  they  no  excuse  afford, 
For  they  by  miracle  and  word 
Were  fed  and  cherished  day  by  day, 
To  strengthen  them  upon   the  way. 
But  to   their  leader  did  they  look, 
And  he  himself  to  prayer  betook. 

How  oft  again  the  people  durst, 
With  all  the  written   word  rehearsed, 
5 


34  Th&    Lawgiver. 


Complain  and  chide  that  they   were  led 
From  Egypt,  and  on   manna  fed. 
Alas!  how  many  thousands   fell 
Of  Israel's  hosts  who  did  rebel. 

And  when  the  messengers   were   sent 

(To  spy  the  goodly  land  they  went), 

They  brought  such  tidings,  deep   and  sore, 

As  made  all  Israel  weep  the  more, 

And  wish  in  Egypt  they  had  died, 

And  all  the  plans  of  God  deride, 

Save  Joshua  and  Caleb  strong, 

Who  strove  to  quell   the  direful  wrong; 

Whilst  deeply  did  their  feelings  burn 

To  think  injustice  should  return. 

For,  'tis  a  goodly  land,  said  they; 

And  if  you'll  not  'gainst  'God  array, 

Then  he  will  still  in   us   delight, 

And  those  from   Canaan's   land   will   fright. 

Then  in  His   wrath,  Jehovah   spake. 
"  Herein  your  wasting-place   I'll   make. 
The  land  concerning  which   I   swore, 
Not  one  full-grown   shall   reach   its  shore, 


The   Lawgiver.  35 


Except  Jephunneh's  faithful  son, 
And  Joshua,  the  son   of  Nun." 

What  were   the  feelings  that  arose, 
To  see  so  many  lost  of  those 
Who,  long  upheld,  should  most   adore 
And  reverence  the  God  of  yore ! 
But  still  in  faith  the  leader's  eye 
Went  beaming  forward,  thus  to  try, 
According  as  God  gave  him  grace, 
To  fill  his  sphere  in  every  place. 
The  Hebrew  host  he  guided  on, 
Till  they  at  length  were  found  upon 
The  plains  of  Moab,  near  the  stream 
Whose  swelling  billows  brightly  gleam, 
And  dash  its  waters  far  and  wide 
'Gainst  the  fair  banks  of  Canaan's  side. 
The  long,  long  pilgrimage  was  o'er; 
They  now  should  plod  the   waste  no   more, 
But  enter  and  possess  the  place 
Promised  so  long  before,  and  chase 
With  their  invincible  array 
Each  curs'd  inhabitant  away. 


36  The   Lawgiver. 


Yea,  they  were  then   upon   the   strand; 
But  he,  who  through  the  desert  land 
Had  led  them  on,  could  ne'er  attain, 
Nor  plant  his  foot  upon  the  plain. 
His  one  misdoing  when  in  Zin 
Deprived  him  of  his  entrance  in. 
Yet  his  integrity  so  bold 
Was  never  otherwise  than  told. 
The  self-same  pure  and  vivid  will 
That  marked  his  character,  was  still. 
His  forty  years'  sojourn  within 
The  wilderness  more  dear  by  sin 
Was  ended,  and  he  must  select 
One  who  should  in  his  stead  direct. 
To  Joshua  he  gave  command, 
And  upon  him  he  laid  his  hand: 
A  man  in  whom  the  Spirit  dwelt, 
Who  zeal  for  Israel  had  felt, 
And  now,  as  fitted  well  his  name, 
The  leader  of  the  host  became. 


The  venerable  servant  left 
The  congregation  not  bereft 


The   Lawgiver.  37 


Of  strength  and  wisdom   to  dispose ; 

And    kind  encouragements  arose. 

He'd  seen  the  wonders  of  the  Lord 

Most  marvelously  shown   toward 

His  people  Israel  at  the  sea, 

Their  triumph,  glorious  and  free. 

The  march  he  now,  in  thought,  renewed, 

How  he  the  desert  path  pursued, 

And  guided  them  so   many  years, 

'Mid  all  their  conflicts  and  their  fears; 

And  how  that  solemn  hour  he   spent 

With  Aaron,  as  appointed, — went 

Upon  Mount  Hor,  where  he  should  die, — 

The  scene  fled  like  a  torrent  by. 

The  fall  of  many,  and    the  hour 

Of  justice  and  delivering  power, 

Swept  o'er  his  mind,  as   mem'ry's  eye 

Reviewed  the   scenes  that  had  gone  by. 


And  to  the  people  gathered  near, 
So  that  all  Israel  could    hear, 
He   spake,  and  to  their  minds  conveyed 
Anew  the  laws  to  be   obeyed: 


38  The   Lawgiver. 


"It  is  not  a  vain  thing  for  you, 
That  these  commands  ye  keep  and  do; 
If  thus  ye  enter  to  possess 
The  goodly  land,  He  then   will  bless. 
Full  six  score  years  are   mine  this  day 
And  I  remember  God  did  say, 

'Thou  shalt  not  o'er  this  Jordan  go.' 
But  Joshua  the   way  shall   show; 
So  heed  with  diligence  his  word, 
And  all   the  precepts  ye  have  heard." 

And  as  the  time  had  well  drawn   nigh 

In  which  he  knew   that    he  must  die, 

The  little  while  he  yet  abode, 

His  heart  poured  forth  in  lofty  ode, 

And  blessings  full  of  tender  care, 

For  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel  there. 

The  latest  moment  came ;    they  took 

With   sorrowing  hearts  their  last,  last   look. 

His  song  had  ceased,  his  prayers  were  made.; 

He  turned  away  and  gently  bade 

His  last  farewell  to  Israel. 

His  years  and  labors  no  inroad 

Upon   his  energies  yet  showed ; 


The   Lawgiver.  39 


And  with  his  natural  eye  undim 

He  strode  away  from  Jordan's  brim, 

And  up  the  mount  where  he  could   view 

From  Pisgah   top  the  vision  new. 

The  land  of  Canaan,  and   the  scene, 

Wide-spread,  expansive,  and  serene, 

With  thankfulness  his  heart  did  fill. 

His  eyes  surveyed   it  long,  until 

'Twas  satisfied,  then  golden  rays 

Of  glory  broke  on  his  full  gaze, 

Like  angel  beckonings   from  afar, 

With  the  eternal  gates   ajar. 

His  great  Creator  thus  he  spied, 

And  bowed  his  drooping  head,  and  died. 


THE    CRUCIFIXION. 


How  hurls  thee  back,  0   mind  and  will, 

To  that  dark  age  of  fiendish  skill, 

IVhen  man,  vile  man,   with  sinful  hate, 

'Condemned  and  slew  Messiah   great. 

I  fancy  I  can  see  him  'most, 

As  when,  before  the  lordly  host, 

So  mildly  meek,  so  fairly  formed, 

So  beautiful,  yet   not  adorned, 

He  stood   before  a  common   bar, — 

Methinks  the  outer  gate  ajar, — 

Accused  amid  an   angry  crowd, 

Whose  envious  voices  thundered  loud. 

But  ah !  no  change  their  wak'nings  stirred, 

He  list,  but  answered   not  a  word. 

The  sentence  came ;    but  what  was  lie, 

That  He  should  bear  such  enmity? 


The  Crucifixion.  41 


Be  chastenedj  scourged,  and  spit  upon, 
His  head  with   crown  of   thorns  thereon  ? 
Those  cruel  mockings,  oh!    how  sore, 
Such   as  were   never  known  before. 
Between  two  thieves  be  crucified, 
Those  hurtful  felons   madly  cried. 
Extreme  beyond  all  other  woe, 
But  cruelties  such   would   not  forego. 

0  kingly  governor  and  host, 

Why  heed'st  the  bitter  language  most? 

Own  erring  self    too  meekly  led, 

So  from  your  lips  the  wild  ire  spread. 

1  scarce  would   thought  that  one  of   pride, 
Who   did  not  feel   to  coincide, 

Could  e're  have  yielded  to   the  plan, 
And  sentenced  thus  a  spotless  man. 
But  human  art  when   basely  played 
Has  for  its  toy  a  dark  hoar  made. 
And  who  with  hideous  wills  condense 
Should  share  alike  the  consequence. 

I  follow,  on   my   mind's  eye  gaze 
Far  back  into   the   olden   maze; 


The  Crucifixion. 


And  through  the  vista  calm  and  clear, 
As  lies  through   time's  remotest  year, 
Those  awful   truths,  beyond  control, 
Rush  back  into  my  inmost  soul. 
That  day,  that  hour,  but  yet  the  word 
Warm  from  his  loving  heart  was  heard : 
1  Weep  not  for  me,  but  for  self s  own ; 
Weep  for  your  children  and  bemoan," 
Seemed  though   'twere  spoken   to  allay 
The  horror  of   the  dreadful  day. 
Yet  doubtless  His  foreseeing  eye 
Was  fixed  on  the  destruction  nigh. 
Affection  knows  a  "charm,  to  bind 
The  tendrils  of   the  heart  entwined; 
And  when   diffused  with  power  and  skill, 
Will  renovate  th'  unstabled  will. 
Such  ignominious  death   to  die, 
The  heavy  cross  before  Him  lie, 
And  more  than   that  at  first  must  bear, 
So  would  with   all  the  suffering  share. 
But  when   too  weary,  worn,  and  weak, 
Another  was  compelled  to   seek; 
On   Simon   lay   the  heavy  load, 
To  trudge  the  tedious,  tiresome  road. 


The   Crucifixion.  43 


When  down  below,  outside  the  wall, 
Was  mixed  the  vinegar  and  gall, 
He  took,  indeed,  the  bitter  cup, — 
Bat  would  not  drink  the  portion  up, — 
Would  rather  stand  alone  in  fate 
Than   use   the  stilling  opiate. 

Among  the  gathered   multitude 

Were  many  friends  his  love  had  wooed, 

Who   wept,  would  bitterly  bewail; 

But  sympathy  could  not  avail 

The  vicious  and  the  rude,  to  gain 

The  power,  could  Achieve   the  deadly  aim; 

So,  at  Golgotha's    loathsome  spot, 

They  railed,  but  still  He  rallied  not, 

And  would    most  viciously  propose, 

Regardless  of   the   wills  or  woes, 

'T  was   there   the  frightful  scene  began, 

Among  the  base,  uncomely  clan, 

Who  were  so  ready  to  agree, — 

They  nailed  him   to   the  cursed  tree. 

But  hear  what  zeal   did   yet  remain, 
With   all  his  weight  of   Buffering  pain, 


44  The   Crucifixion. 


Should  .utter  ere  in  silence    broke, 

And    for  tbe  enemy  invoke: 

Father,  forgive  them,  for.  they  know  not 

What,  they  ,do."    Would  fain  have  all  forgot, 

So  willing  and  so  kind  was    He, 

Still    loved  with,  all  His  energy. 

Fast  weak'ning  down,  the  spark  expired ; 

He  then   from   mortal   toil  retired. 


How  strangely  sad  to  have  appear, 
And  every  soul   be  struck  with  fear, 
Who  had 'so  little  while  before 
Felt  man-like,  or  as  conquerors  more. 
But  He,  the  ruling    One  on  high, 
Bespoke,  and  clouds  betook  the  sky. 
The  golden  eun  at  once  was  veiled  ; 
With  anger  stirred,  His  wrath   assailed 
And  shook  and  quaked  with  fearful  might 
The  earth  and  rugged  rocks  aright. 
And,  too,  the  temple   veil  in  twain 
Was  rent  in  this  convulsive  strain. 
Absorbing,  oh !    where   were   the  men 
Who   rallied  so   revengeful  then  ? 


The    Crucifixion. 


As  shrubs,  without  a  leaf  of  green, 
Left  stalky,  barren,  or  unclean, 
They,  one  by  one,  abased  and  low, 
Had  felt  the  terror-stricking  blow. 
They  saw  disclosed  the   sainted  dead, 
The  shaken  earth,  the  chasms  spread ; 
The  clouds  obstructed  from  their  eight 
The  golden  rays  of  morning  light ; 
Resistless,  torpid,  faint  with  fear, 
Were  conscience-smitten, — hope  was  drear, 
For  He,  the  ruling  One  on  high, 
Had  brought  the  wreck  of  ruin  nigh, 
To  testify  Christ,  King  of  host, 
And  prove  him  to  the  uttermost. 
And  well  the  Centurion  meekly  said, 
When  looking  on  the  cold  and  dead, 
In  mid  air,  with  a  trembling  nod, 
This  truly  was  the   Son   of  God." 


THE  GEHENNA  OF  FIRE. 


THE  GEHENNA  OP  FIRE  refers  to  the  dreadful  punish- 
ment of  being  burnt  alive  in  the  Valley  of  Ben  Jlinnom,  a 
valley  on  the  southeast  of  Jerusalem,  in  which  the  idola- 
trous Jews  sacrificed  their  children  by  fire  to  Moloch,  Baal, 
and  the  sun.  In  one  spot,  called  Tophet,  was  a  fire-stone 
in  which  idolaters  and  other  culprits  were  occasionally 
burnt.  In  it  Josiah  ordered  all  the  offal,  bones,  carcasses 
of  dogs  and  animals,  and  other  filth,  to  be  consumed ;  and 
to  prevent  the  evil  that  might  result  from  putrefaction 
and  worms,  the  fire  was  never  allowed  to  go  out,  but  was 
kept  incessantly  burning,  and  thus  it  was  a  very  fit  and 
striking  emblem  of  the  everlasting  fire  of  hell. 


OH!   that  sad  and  mournful  valley. 
Darkness  hovered  o'er  the  glen, 

Though  the  light  of  fire  blazing, 
And  the  Orient  beams,  were   then 

Spreading  wide  their  brilliant  vestment, 
Shadowing  with   a  golden  hue, 


The    Gehenna    of  Fire.  47 
£ 

Lending  rays  of  lusty  clearness, 

Lovely  as  the  crystal  dew. 
But  there,  'midst  the  glow  of  nature, 

Earth's  fair  hills  and  valleys  clad, 
Bush  and  shrub  their  beauty  bearing, 

As  to  make  the  creature  glad, 
Cruel  depths  of  heathen   darkness 

Coiled  the  consciousness  of  soul; 
Wrought  a  shade  of  deepest  horror, 

E'er  on  memory  could  enroll. 
Yes,  those  wild,  deluded  people, 

Stringent  in  their  courses  ran, 
Sacrificed  their  offerings  to 

Moloch,  Baal,  and  the  sun. 
Idol  gods,  as  gods  to   worship, 

Worse  than  nothingness  below. 
Earth  seemed  made  a  solemn  gateway 

To  the  one  to  which  we  go. 
Minds  to  bear  the  hideous  torture, 

Flesh  and  bones  to  ashes  burn, 
Who  could   think,  in   human  likeness, 

Aught   but    would   such   sorrow  spurn? 


48  The    Gehenna   of  Fire. 


Mothers  lay  their  infant  children 

On  those  heated  arms  to  fry ; 
Nursling  infants,  goodly  offspring, 

Born  for  such  a  death  to  die ! 
Fathers,  with   sarcastic  courage, 

Act  the  strange  and  vile  device, 
Heaping  up  abominations, 

Give  their  sons  a  sacrifice. 


Oh !  that  sad,  that  mournful  valley, 

Where  the  dark  of  minds  were  led, 
With  a  stony  heart  of  hardness, 

Rankle  round  the  suflPring  dead. 
Wasting,  ever  wasting  carcass, 

Human  and  inhuman   both, 
Burning  constant,  ever  burning, 

Not  such  fumes  of  fire  they  loathe. 
Could  beneath  the  vault  of  heaven 

Ever  such  an   emblem  been, 
As  the  fire  of  hell  eternal, 

Built  among  the  sons  of  men? 


The    Gehenna   of  Fire. 


Thus  it  seems:    but  God  of  justice 

Thundered  with  majestic  sway, 
Called  no  more  the  valley  Hinnom, 

Turned  the  miniature  away. 
God  of  earth,  and  God  of   nations, 

Wrecked  and  spoiled  the  wild  delight,- 
Showed  himself   the  Maker,  Ruler, 

In  this  world  of  day  and   night. 
7 


TO-DAY. 


•'A  MAN'S  life  is  a  tower,  with  a  stair-case  of  many  steps. 
That,  as  he  toileth  upward,  crumble  successively  behind  him ; 
No  going  back,  the  past  is  an  abyss ;  no  stopping,  for  the 

present  perisheth; 

But  ever  hastening  on,  precarious  on  the  foothold  of  To-day. 
Our  cares  all  To-day,  our  joys  are  all  To-day, 
And  in  one  little  word,  our  life,  what  is  it  but  To-day?" 

— TUPPEK. 


COMPARE  philosophers  and  wise, 
Elate  with  wondrous  wisdom  rise ; 
Compare  by  knowledge,  power  more  true, 
If   can,  than  that  the  poet  drew ; 
For  what  is  life,  but  like  a  tower? 
It  upward  tends  from  hoar  to  hour. 

We  cannot  pause,  with  eager  flight, 
We  haste  to  see  the  coming  plight, 
And  as  we  pass  with  deep  regret, 
So  soon,  alas !  too  soon   forget ; 


To-Day.  51 

Forgotten  time,  with   rapture  rung, 
Into  a  dark  abyss  is  flung. 

Then   should  we  care  ?    It  cannot  be 
That  ever  mortal    eye  can  see 
Or  measure  out  the  myriads  past, 
That  in  the  dark  abyss  is  cast; 
But  God's  remembering  book  will  tell 
The  annals  of   our  history   well. 

And  can  we  bring  the  cunning  light 
Of   morning's    unknown  scenes  to   sight? 
Ah,  no!    they're  hid  from  day  to  day; 
Will  be  is  all  that  we  can    say. 
A  long-swung  shadowy  veil  is  run, 
Between  to-day  and  to-morrow's  sun. 

The  present,  then,  like  a  fluttering  wing, 
Our  every  care  and  our  joy  doth  bring, 
For  life  like  a  coming  day  may  dawn, 
And  twilight  have  the  requiem  drawn. 
Hallow  in   sacred  awe,  I  say, 
The  precarious  foothold  of  to-day. 


52  To-Day. 

Yet,  ever  hastening  onward,  toil 
'Till  we  throw  off  this  mortal  coil. 
To  die,  to  live  in  peace  arraigned, 
Or  live,  to  die  in  woe  unfeigned. 
"Whatever  then,  whatever  so    gay, 
Our  life,  what  is  it  but  to-day? 


SEPULCHRE; 

OR,  DEPOSIT  FOR  MAX  AFTER  DEATH. 


"Thou  shalt  lie  down 

With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world,  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth,  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre." 

—BRYANT. 


The  mighty  sepulchre,  how  great! 
Deposit,  too,  for  those  of  state ; 
Kings,  from  their  high  and  lofty  throne, 
Do  claim  it  for  their  secret  home. 


The  powerful  shall   yield  their  head, 
And  rest  in  silence  with  the  dead. 
The  earth  contains  the  weak,  the  strong, 
The  wise,  the  good,  in  silence  long. 


The   Sepulchre. 


Dust  mingles  with  the  dust  again, 
These  comely  forms  shall  not  remain, 
But,   with  the  patriarchs  of  old, 
Consign  our  bodies  to  the  mould. 

The  mighty  sepulchre,    how  great! 
Oh,  when  shall  meet  the  dismal  fate? 
We  know  not  when,   nor  will  we   know,- 
The  guiding  hand  does  not  foreshow. 

But  this  we  know,  that  all   must  die, 
In  secret  silence  all  must  lie. 
The  earth  shall  he  our  resting  place 
When  we  have  run  this  weary  race. 


TRUST    IN    SUPREME   RELIABILITY. 


'  THOU  go  not  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon;   but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering   trust." 

—BRYANT. 


How  great  that  trust,  supremely  so, 
When  to  the  sepulchre  we  go; 
Pillars  our  spirits,  prompts  us  free, 
For  that  more  genial  clime  to  see. 

How  great  the  doom — some  think  it  great — 
That  we  must  leave  this  mortal  state, 
And  enter  in  the  nightly  shade 
Where  all  the  ancient  hosts  are  laid. 

Why  should  you  fear,  you  earth-bound   crew? 
The  mighty  sepulchre  is  for  you. 
Why  should    you   shrink  when  he  invites  ? 
'Tis  but  the  bidding  to  delights. 


56         Trust   in   Supreme   Reliability. 


You  go  not  like  the  quarry  slave, 
Scourged  to  his  dark  and  lonely  cave; 
But  moved  with  majesty  sublime, 
And  freed  from  all  the  tilts  of  time. 

Do  think  again.     Did  not  the  hand 
That  leads  you  through  this  lower  land 
Dismount  from  yonder  lofty  place, 
And  travel  through   this  dreary  space? 

Did  He  not  leave  a  staff  for  thee,— 
His  loving  spirit  ?      Oh,  how  free ! 
It  will  sustain  our  parting  breath, 
And  soothe  us  in  the  hour  of  death. 


SECURITY. 


"Approach  thy  grave 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams." 

— BRYANT. 


The  monarch,  royalist,  the  brave, 
The  weak,  the  small,  or  stately  grave, 
Alike  to  all  the  darksome  hall, 
That  cavern  deep  with  shroud  and   pall. 


Dim  midnight  with  its  dusky  air 
Can  throw  no  shadows  of  despair 
O'er  dreamless  slumbers,   quiet  breath, 
When  hushed  in  the  embrace  of  death. 


Then  quietly  your  grave  approach, 
For  no  intruder  can  encroach, 


58  Security. 


Since   Christ,  the   Sovereign   One  of  God, 
Has  stayed  the  theft,  and  broke  the  clod. 

All  peacefully,  with  armor  by, 
Approach  your  humble  grave,  to  lie 
As  one  who  takes  his  drapery  vest 
And  wraps  it  'bout  to  take  his  rest. 

All  pleasantly,  with   cheerful  air, 
A  farewell  day  to  toil   and  care, 
As  if — but  ah !  no  dreams  can  tell, 
All  cordial,  but  no   anthems  swell. 


A  safe  retreat  from  mortal   woe, 
A  thoroughfare   from  things  below, 
A  transport  to  the  furth'rmost  edge, 
An  exile  from  our  pilgrimage. 

Though  deep  the  grave,  a  dismal  pit; 
'Twill  never  be  by   wild-fires  lit, 
For  there  the  myriads  sleep  when  led, 
Until  archangels  wake  the  dead. 


FIGURE    OF    THE    SUFFERING    OF 
DEATH. 


'DEATH,  subtile  leech,  hath  anatomized  soul  from  body, 
Dissecting  well  in  every  nerve  it  split  from  its  substance." 

— TUPPER. 

DEATH,  subtle  leech,  how  deep  entrenched, 
When  that  of  soul  from  substance  wrenched. 
What  deep'ning  shade,  what  fearful  pain, 
Must  actuate  when  cleft  in   twain. 


But  gone,  frail  figure,  sunken  'neath 
The  cold  earth's  breast  their  forms  en  wreath ; 
Death,  frigid  lord,   has  claimed   his  clay, 
And  Death,  foul  despot,  seized  his  prey. 

Not  one,  nor  few,  but  all  must  share, 
And  meet  grim  Death,  the  tyrant,  where 
Or  when  he  please, — we  can't  direct, 
Or  change  the  current  to  effect. 


60    Figure   of  the   Suffering   of  Death. 


'Twas  so  ordained,  but  yet  when  I 
Consider  what  it  is  to  die, 
It  seems  like  such  a  rending  break 
The  spirit  from  its  substance   take. 

Ah  me !  who  would  not   wish   to  serve  ? 
Think  of  dissecting  every  nerve; 
Those  pangs  so  great,  who  would  suggest,- 
I  own  could  never  yet  express. 

But  I  am  weak,  frail  one  of  earth, 
My  most  is  of  but  little  worth  ; 
My  strength  is  in  my  Maker,  God, 
Who  rules  the  nations  with  a  rod. 

'Twas  His  decree  that  man   should  die 
To  earth,  and  in  its  bosom  lie; 
However,  to  His  will  I'll  bend, 
And  ever  on  his  arm  depend. 

He  heeds  me,  yea,  frail  nature  heed, 
Upmounted,  yet  He  stoops  to  lead; 
His  throne  on  high  o'er  this  domain,-— 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  alike    to  reign. 


THE   SPIRIT   RETURNS   TO    GOD, 


"  THEN  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was, 
and  the  spirit  shall  return  to  God  who  gave  it."— BIBLE. 


WHEN  looking  through   the  book  of  yore, — 
That  noted  book  of   long  before, — 
I  find  recorded  most  sublime, 
Pure  words  of  truth  in  every  line. 

On  death  alone  we  need  not  dwell, 
Or  picture  scenes  for  tongue  to  tell. 
Though  dust  return  to  dust  again, 
Th'  undying  soul   still  lives  to  reign. 

But    not  with   elements  below, 

Here  lingering  round  'mid  friend  and  foe, 

As  if   to  fear  a  princely  tread, 

O'er  the  cold  relic, — sleeping  dead. 


62  The  Spirit  Returns  to  God. 

But  with  the  living  God  to  bring, 
Away  our  tired  spirits  wing; 
To  other  home,  another  scene, 
Of   endless  woe  or  bliss  serene. 

God  gave  a  gift,   and  giving,  bought, 
And  buying,  asketh  love  should  aught 
Subdue,  but  live  in  faith  and  love. 
To  join  seraphic  joys  above. 

Thou  great,   thou  universal  all, 
Who  died  and  conquered    to  recall, 
For  loan  He  left  to  hallowed  bliss. 
What  more  could  any  ask  than  this  ? 

But  be  it  with  us  as  it  may, 
This  flesh  must  mix  with  kindred  clay ; 
And  God  our  spirits  will    ensure, 
And  those  are   His,  with  Him    secure. 


DESTINY    OF    THE   WICKED. 


;i  DEPART  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire,  pre- 
pared for  the  devil  and  his  angels."— BIBLE. 


How  will    it  seem  to  hear  that  sound 
Pronounced  to  many  millions  round: 
Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into 
The  gulf  prepared,  though  not  for  you  ? 


Then  down  the  precipice  below, 
They  down,  down,  deeper,  further    go, 
Still  cursing  God,  the    Lamb,  and  scorn 
The  earth,   the  resurrection  morn. 

They  '11  seek  for  death,  but  vainly  seek, 
Yes,  utter  death  would  gladly  meet ; 
But  privileged  scenes  of   time  must  mourn, 
The  final  destiny  be  borne. 


64  Destiny  of  the    Wicked. 


The  fury  of  His  vengeance  now 
Is  fixed  on  every  form  and  brow; 
Must  bear,  be  borne  through  ages  bound, 
An  everlasting,  changeless  round. 

A  painful  death  that  never  dies, 
A  horrid  gloom  with  bitter  cries, 
In  fiery  flames  to  ever  be 
Throughout  a  long    eternity. 

Dark  night  of   agony  and   tears, 
A  night  of   days,  and  months,  and  years; 
Still    onward,  onward,  midst  the    gush 
Of   sorrow's  agonizing    crush. 

Such  is  the  harvest  sin  hath  sown ; 
Such  harvest  who'd  not   blush  to  own  ? 
To  dwell   forever  'neath  the  rod 
For  trampling  on  the  Son  of   God. 

His  means  of  grace,  his  mercy  sure, 
Could  all  a  privilege  secure. 
But  if  they  will,  at  last  shall    dwell 
Forever  in  a  dreadful  hell. 


DESTINY  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 


"  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom 
prepared  for  you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world." 

—BIBLE. 

Now  come,  ye  of  my  Father  bless'd, 
Inherit,  take  your  sainted  rest. 
The  kingdom  was  prepared  for  you, 
And  its  effulgent   glories,  too. 

How  bless'd  the  sons  of  Adam's  race, 
Inherit  such  a  dwelling  place. 
So  early,  too,  prepared  for  man, — 
Must  been  prepared  when  time  began. 


Let's  stop  and  think:    what  can  this  be, 
This  heavenly  kingdom  made  for  thee, 
By  Jove  and  Judge  divinely  wrought, 

Love's  great  eternal  centre  fraught  ? 
9 


66  Destiny   of  the   Righteous. 


Jerusalem,  that  glorious  home, 
From  where  no  blissful  subjects  roam ; 
Where  the  angelic  hosts  have  trod, — 
The  glorious  city  of  our  God. 

He  framed  the  wall,  so  great  and  high, 
With  love-lit  beams,  like  summer  sky; 
The  streets  he  paved  with  shining  gold, 
Transparent  as  clear  glass,  we're  told. 

Foundation  so  most  precious,  too, 
He  built  it  all  entirely  new; 
With  jasper,  sapphire,  emerald  grade, 
For  the  adorning  stones,  were  laid. 

Those  pearly  gates,  what  price  could  count? 
Each  gate  a  pearl, — what  could  surmount 
Such  beauty  and  such  grandeur  sought? 
Beyond  our  view  His  hand  hath   wrought. 

That  matchless  worth,  that  heavenly  place, 
Where  golden  beams  did  darkness  chase ; 
No  nights  are  there,  no  pain  or  death, 
But  glory  crowns  th'  immortal  breath. 


Destiny   of  the   Righteous.  67 


Most  blessed  son  of  Adam's  race, 
Inherit  such  a  dwelling  place ; 
Emmanuel's  home,  where  angels  meet, 
And  sing  his  praise  majestic  sweet. 

A  kingdom  exquisitely  fair, 
And  the  redeemed  have   welcome   there; 
The  ransomed  ones  have  gained  their  rest, 
For  said  He  not,  "Come  ye,  my  blessed?" 

Life's  glittering  crown  is  on  His  brow, 
And  thus  on  all  He  places  now, 
And  gladly  -welcomes  round  the  throne, 
As  the  good  sheep  the   Shepherd  own. 

Most  sweetly  fell  upon  the  ear, 
In  accents  so  divinely  clear: 
"Now  come,  ye  of  my  Father  bless'd, 
Inherit,  take  your  sainted  rest. 

"This  kingdom  was  prepared  for  you, 
And  its  effulgent  glories  too ; 
Each  crown  your  own,  with  scepter  stand, 
Forever  more  at  my  right  hand." 


UNSEEN    GLORIES    OF   THE   HEAV- 
ENLY  WORLD. 


"EYE  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered 
into  the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath  pre- 
pared for  them  that  love  Him."— BIBLE. 

WHATEVER  could  inspire  His  breast 
To  place  within  that  home  of  rest 
Such  beauties, — more  than  eye  has  known, 
Or  ever  dreams  of  midnight  shown. 

It  was  his  great  delight,  it  seems, 
To  fill  each  space  with  love-lit  beams, 
That  on  the  threshold,  'mid   the  throng, 
Our  joy  would  be  one  gladdened  song. 

Yet  more  and  more,  as  on  we  trace 
Those  golden  streets  with  steady  pace, 


Unseen  Glories  of  the  Heavenly  World.    69 


Appears  before  the  immortal  eye. 

Now   could  not  look,  'cept  we  should  die. 


It  pleased  His  Majesty  on   high, 
To  leave  upfolded  in  the  sky 
The  richest  of   His  grandeur  fair, 
Until  He  chose  to  take  us  there. 


Methinks  we  here   enjoy  surprise, 
When  once  delights  the  ear,  the  eyes; 
But  from  Omnipotent  to   spring, 
What  genius  could  an  index  bring  ? 

We  need  not  think  that  sweetest  sounds, 
And  lovely  greens  and  flowery  mounds, 
And  pearls,  and  shells,  and  diamond  sand, 
Are  the  prime  mediums  of  that  land. 

They're  far  beyond   the  reach  of  thought, 
Beyond    the  sphere  of  language  taught, 
Beyond  the  haze  of    earth,  sea,  air, — 
No  scenes  on  earth   with  them  compare. 


70    Unseen  Glories  of  the  Heavenly  World. 


I've  briefly  run   the    prelude   o'er, 
And  still  would  wish   to  speak  of  more ; 
But  as  such  truths  none  could  attain, 
To  'tempt  to  tell  them  would    be  yam. 


FINAL   DESTINY. 


•  TIME  gone,  the  righteous  saved,  the  wicked  damned, 
And  God's  eternal  Government  approved."— POLLOCK. 


The  latest  change  is  made  at   last, 
The  hurried  scenes  of  time  have  passed ; 
The  foaming  crest,  that  misty  main, 
Can  never  dash  its  waves  again. 

The  earth,   the  long  'ranged  vernal   seat, 
At  last  did  melt  with  fervent  heat; 
'T  was  on  that  great  transaction  day, 
The  earth,  the  heavens,  fell  away, 

The  final  judgment  had  arrived, 
When  man — created   man — revived ; 
The  measure  that  he  filled  below 
Was  measured  to  him,  as  ye  know. 


Final  Destiny. 


The  good,  exulting  in  their  King, 

Responding  with  a  new-fledged  wing, 

In  heavenly  airs    divinely  given, 

When  raised  He  them  their  souls  to  heaven. 

The  righteous,  now  forever  free, 
Unchanged,  unchangeable  to    be, 
Their  lasting  fame    unmeasured,  meet 
The  eye  of  God  assigned   complete. 

Around  the  throne,  thrice  happy  there, 
Do  now  the  lofty  millions  share; 
While  numberless  their  glories  roll, 
And  triumph  fills  the  immortal  soul. 

There  praise  they  God,  and  praise  the  Son, 
The  Holy  Spirit,  three  in   one; 
Join  and  rejoin  in  matchless  awe, 
Devoted  to  His  sovereign  law. 

The  undeserving,  'neath  His  wrath, 
Must  bear  the  fury  as   he  hath ; 
Beyond  the    place  of   goodness,  they 
Forever  cast  them  all  away. 


Final   Destiny.  73 


Below  the  seat  of  hope  and  love, 
Below  those  joyful   scenes  above, 
Below,  in  night's  beclouded  doom, 
They're  fixed  in  everlasting  gloom. 

They  broke  the  sovereign  law  of  God, 
Strayed  from  the  path   our  Saviour  trod; 
Did  not  regard  His  holy  day, 
But  sported,  pleasured  it  away. 

With  swelling  words,  which  fearless  rose, 
So  base,  so  daringly,  they  chose 
Home  of  the   damned,  this  downward  road; 
At  His  command  they  there  abode. 

No  Mediator  to  revive, 

No  Holy  Spirit  now  to  strive, 

But,  'clipsed  beneath   His  mystic  spell, 

Who  holds  the  keys  of  death  and  hell, 

Are  there,  wherein  no  sunbeams  break, 
No  glittering  stars   their  twinkling  make, 
No  moon  her  pensive  rays  to   throw, 
To  light  the  dark  abode  of  woe. 
10 


74  Final   Destiny. 


So  well  deserve,  for  did  not  they 
Throw  every  offered  means  away? 
Reject,  despise,  blaspheme,  control, 
The  powers  that  'vade  the  undying  soul  ? 

Those  powers  that  lead  each  one  to  share 
An  interest  with   their  Maker  there, 
And  gain  for   them  that  home  of  rest, 
Where   even  God  himself  is  blessed. 

His  love   was  boundless,  free,   complete, 
Impressive,   pure,  in  language  sweet; 
His  gospel  truths  strove  far  and  near, 
That  every  list'ning  ear  might  hear. 

His  Son,  with  arms  extended  wide, 
Has  purchased  peace  for  all,  He  cried; 
His  blood  was  shed  for  each  of  you, — 
What  more  could  a   Eedeemer  do  ? 

Yet  they  would  not  abstain  from  sin; 
They  would  not  strive   to  enter  in; 
They  would  not  love  the   God  who  gave 
His  Son,  a  sacrifice,   to   save. 


Final   Destiny.  75 


What  further  means  could  he  extend 
Than  those  he  ever  did   commend  ? 
His  offered  grace  and  mercy,  sure, 
Could  all  a  privilege  secure. 

To  die  was  not  His  wish  they  should, 
Much  rather  all  should  come  if  would ; 
But  selfish  sins  that  govern  host, 
They  ever  seem  to  love  the  most. 

What,  then,  if  by  His  judgment  they 
Are  now  forever  cast  away, — 
His  righteous  government  did  take 
With  sovereign  justice  to  awake  ? 


IMPARTIALITY: 

MEANS    OF    ACCEPTANCE. 


"  OP  a  truth,  I  perceive  that  God  is  no  respecter  of 
persons.  But  in  every  nation,  he  that  feareth  Him  and 
worketh  righteousness  is  accepted  with  Him." — BIBLE. 


OH,  mark  ye  well,  benighted  ones  who  dwell 

on  India's  plain, 
Or  'long  the  glistening  waters  deep,  beside  the 

billowy  main ; 
No   matter  where,  or  how  thou    art,  or  what 

thy  native  clime, 

Our  Maker  loves  His  own  hand-work  of  every 
name  and   time. 

To  you  the  truth,  the  sacred  truth 

Of  pardoning  grace  is   given; 
And  all  who  worketh  righteousness 
Will  He  accept  in  heaven. 


Impartiality.  7T 


Ye  sovereign  princes,  common  lords,  of  kingly 

pomp  and  pride, 
Luxurious    in    your  homes  of   wealth,  and    in 

your  glory  ride; 

But  not  to  your  superior  love  was  e'er  trans- 
ferred   to  be 

A  hallowed  dawn,  a  holy  day,  an  immortality. 
But  'tis  a  truth,  a  blissful  truth, 
That  pardoning  grace  is  given; 
And  such  as  worketh  righteousness 
Will  He  accept  in  heaven. 

All  ye  who   roam  on  Afric's  sands,  or  crowd 

Pacific's  coast, 
Ye  dwellers  o'er  the  utmost  sea,  and  all  Japan 

can  boast, 

For  He,  the  builder  of  the  world,  is  an  impar- 
tial God; 

His  matchless  eye  scans  every  place  that  ever 
man  has  trod. 

It  is  a  truth,  a  gospel  truth, 

That  sovereign  grace  is  given  ; 
And  such  as  worketh  righteousness 
"Will  He  accept  in  heaven. 


78  Impartiality. 


Oh !    spurn    you  not,    ye  fairest    ones,  the    black 

man  and  the  red, 
Who  share  alike   in  summer  sun,  and  by    His 

hand  are  fed; 
They  of  the  gospel  truth  partake,  and  in  the 

gospel   share, 

And  others  bless  by  blessings  given  to  humble, 
fervent  prayer. 

For  'tis  a  truth,  a  sacred  truth, 

That  pardoning  grace  is  given ; 
And  those  who  worketh  righteousness, 
Will  He  accept  in  heaven. 

The    wise,    the    rich   in    wealth    or    fame,   the 

unlearned  and  the  poor, 
The  lialt,  the  maimed,  the  deaf  or   blind,  are 

all  alike  secure. 
If,    from    the    heart    the    mind's  engaged,  and 

fearfully  relies, 

The  weakest  prayer  is  ne'er  forgot  nor  lost  in 
any  wise. 

Oh,  for  the  truth,  the  hallowed  truth, 

That  sovereign  grace  is  given; 
And  such  as  worketh  righteousness 
Will  He  accept  in  heaven. 


Impartiality.  79 


Why,  then,  in  this  enlightened  land,  this  gar- 
den spot  of  earlh, 
Are  there  so  many  who  neglect  the  work  of 

countless  worth  ? 
The    ideal    fills    the    world    below    that    lights 

the  one  above. 

And  myriad  minions  stamp  the  soul  in  char- 
acters of  love. 

Let  not  the  false,  deceitful  foe 

Absorb  the  grace  that's  given ; 
But  work  the  works  of  righteousness 
And  dwell  with  Him  in  heaven. 

Oh  vain  excuse!    for  vain  'twill  be,  when  He 

from  earth  we  call, 
If   we    are    unprepared     to    go     to    meet    the 

Judge  of   all. 
Far  from  the  great  arch'd  throne  on  high,  He 

sways  o'er  land    and  sea; 
Salvation,  too,  to  every  soul  He  kindly  offers 
free. 

"  Christ  is  the  stone,  the  well-tried  stone, 

And  a  foundation  sure ; 
And  every  soul  that  builds  thereon 
Will  ever  stand  secure." 


80  Impartiality. 


Now  let   us  think,  and    thankful    be  for  thi» 

so  rich  a  day, 
In    which   onr  happy    lots   are    cast,    and   all 

commands  obey. 
Live    holy,    wisely,   truly    well,    that    we,    like 

Abraham, 

When    called,   as    spotless   may    appear   before 
the  great   "I   AM." 

Oh,  blessed  the  way,  the  living  way, 

The  privileged  way  thafa  given, 
That  all,  by  works  of   righteousness, 
May  find  a  home  in  heaven. 


INEFFICIENCY    OF   THE    MOON 
AND    SUN, 

IN'    COMPABISOX    WITH    THE    GLOW    OF    HIS    MAJESTIC 
GREATNESS. 


"  Then  the  moon  shall  be  confounded,  and  the  sun 
ashamed,  when  the  Lord  of  hosts  shall  reign  in  Mount 
Zion,  and  in  Jerusalem,  and  before  his  ancients  glori- 
ously."'—BIBLE. 


How  shall  appear,  abashed,  0   sun, 
With   all   thy  sparkling  ray, 
If  then  thou  seem'st  as  even  now, 
When  'thwart  the  threshold  lay. 
Long  hast  thou  reigned,  thou  glitt'riug   orb, 
And  lit  from  pole  to  pole 
This  starry  sphere  from  year  to  year, 
Bound  as  the  planets  roll. 
Still,  when   the   Lord  of  Light   shall   reign, 
11 


82        Inefficiency  of  the  Moon  and  Sun. 


What   were  thy  light,  0   sun? 

Thy  radiant  beams  as  clouded  o'er, 

Thy  brilliancy  outdone. 

So   shalt  thou  seem,  as  'twere,  ashamed, 

For  then  so  much  the  less, 

Though  here  exalted  king  of  day, 

Thou 'It  be  as  nothingness. 

Thou  beauteous  Moon,  that  dwells  so   high 

Above  the  earth  and  air, 

And  breaks  the  darksome   shades  of   night 

With  thine  own   silvery  glare, 

Unconscious  as  thou   seem'st  to  be, 

What  were  thy  worth,  0   Moon  ? 

Ten  thousand  times  ten    thousand  more, 

Still  numberless  thy  boon. 

Yet  what  are  thou,  delightful  Moon, 

With  all  thy  gentle  glow, 

And  all  thy  light  and  loveliness, 

That  fills  the  world  below  ? 

For  when  appears  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

So  matchless  in  his  might, 

Thou 'It  be  as  one  confounded   with 

His  store  of  golden  light. 


Inefficiency  of  the  Moon  and  Sun.       83 


True  Zion's  king  shall  reign   within; 

Jerusalem  shall  see, 

When  once  before  his  ancients,  He 

Shall  reign  most  gloriously. 

'Twill  be  a  one  triumphant  spell, 

No  chance  nor  change  can  break, 

No  angry  wind,  no  cloud  can  rise, 

Or  scene  of  sorrow  wake; 

For  He,  whose  being  is  all  light, 

All  glory  to  abound, 

"Will  dwell  among  His  chosen  ones 

With  happiness  profound. 

He'll  let  unveiled  His  glory  then, 

That  every  eye  may  see; 

And  every  ransomed  soul  will  share 

The  one  eternity. 


THE  FASHION  OF  THIS  WORLD. 


For  the  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away.— BIBLE. 

THOUGH   the  form  of  this  world  pass  away, 
And  the  garb  that  adorns  us  shall  fade, 
Yet  methinks  a  still  whisper  speaks  kindly: 

"My  love, 

Thou  shalt  rest  in  a  happier  home  above, 
Where  the  clouds  are  changeless  and  the  sun 

is  bright." 
Farewell,  earth,  for  that  radiant  light. 


Though  each  orb  has  its  mantle  of  ray, 
So  beautifully  glowing  and  bright, 

Yet  methinks  there's  a  world  that's  more  lovely 
and  fit, 

Where  the  loved  ones,  the  ransomed,  in  ecstasy  sit ; 


Ttie   Fashion   of  this    World.          85 


Where  the  air  is  fragrant  and  the  sweet  notes 

chime. 
Farewell,  earth,  for  that  radiant  clime. 

Though  the  musings  of  this  life  shall  subside, 
And  the  gems  that  adorn  it  shall  fall, 
Yet  methinks  we  are  bidden,  are  welcomed,  my 

love, 

To  those  happier  courts  in   heaven  above, 
Where  the  streamlets  flow  in  their  silver  light. 
Farewell,  earth,  for  that  radiant  height. 

Though  the  parting  of  earth  we  may  greet, 

And  may  welcome  the  last  sounding  bell, 

Yet  methinks  there's  a  thought  that  will  steal 

o'er  thy  breast : 

"How  unworthy  am  I  of  that  peaceful  rest, 
Where  each  breeze  is  freshened  by  the  hand 

that's  fair." 
Farewell,  earth, — may  I  meet  Him   there. 


THE   PROMISED    LAND. 


WHEN  shall   we  rest  in  the  promised  land? 
When  kept  secure  with  the  happy  band  ? 
Will  it  be  when  the  spring  breezes  blow, 
When  the  snow  melts  and  the  waters  flow, 
And  swell  their  deep  currents  round  the  hills, 
And  leak  away  into  little  rills  ? 

,  We  know  not,  we  know  not  when. 


Will   it  be  when  the  trees  put  forth  bud  and 

bloom, 

When  the  warbling  birds   their  notes  resume  ? 
When  the  grass  is  fresh  on  hill  and  vale, 
And  the  lambs  frisk   in   the  whistling  gale? 
Then,  shall  we  reach   the  happy  shore, 
Where  parting  scenes  shall  be  no  more? 

We  know  not,  we  know  not  when. 


The   Promised   Land.  87 


Will  it  be  when  the  long  summer  days  arrive 
And  the  brilliant  sun,  with  the  showers,  revive 
The  withered  grass  and  drooping  flower. 
And  send  sweet  cheers  to  each  lovely  bower? 
Will  it  be  when  the  reapers  are  gathering  fast 
Their  plenteous  harvest  of  wealth  e'er  cast? 
We  know  not,  we  know  not  when. 

Or  will  it  be  when  the  summer  is  past, 
And  the  leaves  in  autumn  fall  thick  and  fast; 
When  the    whistling    winds    curl    round    and 

round, 

And   bring  with   each   the  echoing  sound, 
That  winter  is  nigh,  with  its  mellowing  sigh, 
That  riper  days  have  passed  them  by? 

We  know   not,   we  know  not   when. 

Will  it  be  when  the  snow  has  sheeted  the  earth, 
And  concealed   from  our  view  the  mossy  turf; 
That  brings   to   our  ears  the  sounding  bells, 
The  glad  old  tune  that  jingling  tells? 
Then,  shall  we  see  the  happy  shore 
Where  parting  scenes  shall  be  no  more  ? 
We  know   not,   we  know   not  when. 


88  The   Promised    Land. 


It  will  be  when  the  whispering  voice  from  above 
'Gathers  round  us  in  stillness,  pity,  and  love, 
Enwreaths  our  fond  spirits  and  bears  them  away 
To  those  bright,  sunny  regions    in  glitt'ring 

array. 

Then  we  shall  rest  in  the  promised  land  ; 
Then  kept  secure   with   the   happy  band ; 

It  will  be,  it  will  be   then. 


THE    PARABLE    OF   JOTHAM. 


THE  trees   went  forth   in   friendship  kind, 
As  if  with   trunk  and    twig  combined, 
To  nominate  the  Olive  tree, 
If  but  her  highness   would  agree; 
And  thus  her  sacred  trust  avow, 
Her  well-sought  guardianship  allow ; 
And,  "  Like  a  king  with  godly  prowess," 
Said  they,  "Wilt  tbou   reign  over  us?" 


THE  OLIVE: 

Should  I  my  fatness  leave,   wherewith 
By  me  they  honor  God  and  man, 
To  be  a  ruler  over  trees  ? 
The  answer  is  not  that  I  can. 
12 


90  The   Parable   of  Jotham. 


Then   spake  the  trees  again, — to  whom  ? 
To  the  fair  Fig  in  noblest  bloom, 
As  if  to  find  in  her  some  place, 
Some  hope,  some  glow   of  winning  grace, 
Whereby  with   skillful  thrust  could  Achieve, 
And  with  one  conquering  word  believe ; 
Now  like  a  king  with  godly  prowess, 
Come  thou,  and  rule  thou   over  us. 

THE  FIG: 

Should  I  my  sweetness  here  forsake, 
My   fruit  and  all  my  good  forego, 
To  be  a  ruler  over  trees  ? 
Howbeit,  still,  I  answer,  No! 


Then  spake  the  trees  unto   the  Vine, 
With  her  grand  tendrils  to   entwine; 
Perchance  they  could  invoke  her  pride, 
On   jthe   fair  wing  of   Time's  swift  tide, 
And  ultimately  stand    upright, 
And  rule  the   sturdy   nation   quite : 

Thus  like  .a    king  with  godly  prowess, 
Come  thou,   and   rule  thou   ov«r   us. 


The    Parable   of  Jotham.  91 


THE  VINE  : 

Should  I  my  wine  now  leave,  by  which 
I  cheer  both  God  and  man, 
To  be  a  ruler  over   trees? 
The  answer  is  not  that  I  can. 

Yet  once  again,  said  all  the  trees, 
To  the  low   Bramble,  rich  with  leaves : 
From  thine  own  humble  sphere  extol 
Thyself  as  monarch  over  all ; 
Do  thou, — 'tis  with  confiding   trust 
We  faintly  ask   thee,  for  thou  must, — 
Do,  as  a  king  with  godly  prowess, 
Come   thou,  and  rule   thou  over  us, 

THE  BRAMBLE  : 

If  over  you  to  reign   I  must, 
Then   in   my  shadow  you   must  trust ; 
If  you  do  not,  let  wild  fires  run, 
And  spoil   the   trees   of  Lebanon. 


THE   TWO    TALENTS. 


talent  small, 

And  is  this  all, 
That's  barely  given  me, 

To  sate  the  brain 

In  loss  or  gain, 
Where  should  be  two  or  three? 

My  cross  I  bear 

Of  toil  and  care, 
A  burden  though  it  be; 

One  cheerless  song, 

The  full  hour  long, 
Is  ever  sung  by  me. 

I  stop  to  choose, 
And  then  I    lose 
Myself  in   wild  disguise,— 


The    Two    Talents.  93 


I  fear  the  ill, 
I  feel  the  chill, 
And  thus  my  conscience  lies! 

My  soul  demands 

My  heart  and  hands, 
Whatever  be  my  lot, — 

One  talent  small, 

If   this  be  all, 
So  I  can  bury  not. 

My   feelings  burn, 
My  soul  I  spurn,— 

Such  claim  a  talent  one ; 
This  pride  of   life, 
With  all  its  strife, 

'T  were  better  I  had  none. 

Swift  in  a  rage, 
With  soul  engage 

I   would, — but  turned  to  woo, 
When  to  my  right, 
Just  then  in  sight, 

Was  plainly  pictured  two. 


The    Two    Talents. 


A  voiceless  dove, 
As  from   above, 

Disclosed  this  peerless  ray; 
Myself  I  saw, 
As   without  law, 

Was  grov'ling  in  the  clay. 

My  talent   two 
I  saw  it  new; 

My  soul  give  I  to  thee; 
And  now  I  own 
That  thou  alone 

Art  sovereign   Lord  of   me  ! 


RESPONSE   TO    AN    INQUIRING 
BROTHER. 


I  THINK  of   that  better  land,  dear  boy, 

I  think  of    that  better  land ; 
With  love's   triumphant  wing  upborne. 

And  Faith's  all-seeing  eye, 
I  look  away  from  transient  scenes, 

To  those  beyond  the  sky. 
For  there's  a  firmament  of  love ; 
Fix  thy  treasured  home  above. 


I  think  of   that  pleasant  home,  dear  boy, 
I  think  of   that  pleasant  home, 

Where   undivided  comforts  are, 
Unhappiness  unknown. 

A  home,  ten  thousand  times  more  dear 
Than   any  yet  our   own. 


96     Response  to  an  Inquiring  Brother, 


For  there's  a  firmament  of  love ; 
Fix  thy  treasured  home  above. 

I  think  of   that  peaceful  rest,  dear  boy, 

I  think  of   that  peaceful  rest, 
Where  friendship  dwells  in   every  heart, 

And  lisped  by  every  tongue, 
In  holy  confidence  to  Him, 

From  whom  all  beings  sprung. 
Oh !  for  that  firmament  of  love ; 
Fix  thy  treasured  home  above. 

Think  on  thy  parting  day,  dear  boy, 

Think  on  thy  parting    day ; 
For  life  with  all  its  scenes  shall    close, 

Its  busy  joys  and  care, 
Then  guide  thy  steps  with  watchfulness, 

And  find  a  welcome  there. 
High  is  that  firmament  of  love. 
Be  there  thy  treasured    home  above. 


THE  WEEPING   MOTHER. 


Why  weep  you,  mother,  o'er  the  departed  dead  ? 
Why  linger  round  the  sleeping  bed  ? 
Hath  not  the  spirit  that  once  mingled  sweet 
Fled  from  thy  presence  with  anthems  to  greet 
The  highlands  of  heaven  and  angels,  to  bear 
The  record  of  thy  daughter  there  ? 
Why,  why  weep  you  here  ? 


Why  send  you  longings  for  that  much  loved  one  ? 
Know  you  not  that  her  work  is  done? 
This  lower  world  hath  she  not  left,  to  share 
Heaven's  starry  richness  with  the  godly  there? 
Do  there  not  myriads  on  the  threshold  stand, 
To  welcome  to  the  promised  land  ? 

Why,  why  weep  you  here? 

13 


98  Ihe    Weeping  Mother. 


Why  are  you  thus  with  deep  sorrow  oppressed? 
Know  you  not  she's  gone  to  rest? 
Hath  she  not  parted  with  this  trifling  mirth, 
And  welcomed  the  return  of  Mother  Earth  ? 
And  hath  she  not  heard,  too,  with  joyous  taste, 
Come,  daughter,  from  the  dreary  waste? 
Why,  why  weep  you  here? 

Why  should  you  be  in  sore  anguish  distressed  ? 
Know  you  not  she's  with  the  blest? 
There  hath  she  not  joined  the  angelic  throng, 
With  swelling  notes  of  an  undying  song? 
And  does  she  not  long  to  embrace  thee  there, 
And  all  the  realms  of  heaven  share? 
Weep,  weep  ye  no  more. 


THE    SABBATH. 


How  fair  and  beauteous  is   the  day, 
When  toils  and  cares  are  thrown  away, 
To  sit  and  muse  on  things  divine; 
His  works  of  goodness,  oh!  how  kind. 

To  ponder  o'er  the  gift  of  grace, 
The  glow  that  lights  His  smiling  face, 
And  trust  His  love  and  promise  too; 
His  gift  of  mercy,  oh!  how  true. 

Fain  would  I  count  His  wonders  o'er, 
And  work  and   worship  Him  the  more, 
And  of  His  truth  and  wisdom  gain. 
His  loving  kindness,  oh!  how  plain. 

It's  stamped  on  every  bush  and  tree, 
On  every  leaf  that  swings  so  free; 


100  The   Sabbath. 


On  every  tiny  blade  of  grass 

His  tender  beams  of  love  are  cast. 

The  little  flowers  that  bloom  so  gay 
His  unbought  loveliness  display ; 
And  every  pearly  gem,  so  dear, 
Portrays  His  kindness,  oh!  how  clear. 

The  breeze,  the  atmospheric  air, 
That  fans  so  freely  everywhere, 
If  understood,  does  plainly  tell 
His  loving  kindness,  oh !  how  well. 

But  tongue,  the  instrument  of  speech, 
Is  much  too  seldom  known  to  speak, 
To  praise  in  either  word  or  song, 
Still,  in  his  kindness,  oh !  how  strong. 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MY 
MOTHER. 


I  CANNOT  see  dear  mother   now, 
For  mother  she  is  dead. 

1 

Her  words  in  solemn  accents  fell, 
When,  on  her  dying  bed, 

I  heard  her  utter  words  of  love, 
With  cold  and  feeble  lip, — 

Her  sunken  eye  and  marble  brow 
With  sympathy  were  lit. 


She  scarcely  seemed  like  mother  then, 
And  yet  I  knew  't  was  her, 

And  oft  in  thinking  of   that  hour 
Does  grief   my  memory  stir. 


102  Written  on  the  Death  of  My  Mother. 


When  there  I  stood  beside  her  couch, 

A  feeble  minstrel,  I 
So  solemnly  an  impress  told, 

That  mother  dear  would  die. 


How  could  it  be?     It  seemed    so  hard 

I  knew  no  words  to  say. 
I  wondered  why  the  living  God 

Should  take  her  soul  away. 
Still  well  I  knew  the  angel  Death 

W.ould  come  at  His  command; 
He  came,  and  took  my  mother  dear 

Up  to  Immanuel's  land. 


Her  dying  breaths  were  short  and  few; 

I  counted  every  one. 
And  soon  I  knew  the  trying  fact, 

That  mother's  work  was  done ; 
Her  soul  unfettered  and  unbarred, 

Was   lost  to  human  view; 
There,  where  the  weary  cease   from   toil, 

Has  gone  my  mother,   too. 


Written  on  the  Death  of  My  Mother.  103 


Then,  could  I  wish  her  back  again  ? 

Oh!  yes,  I  did,  'tis  true. 
But  now  I  only  ask  my  God 

To  know  His  will  to  do; 
To  feel  that  He  who  rules  the  worldr 

From  east  to  distant  west, 
Will  throw  His  matchless  arm  around, 

And  whisper,    «  All's  for  the    best." 


THE    TEAR-DROP. 


'  IN  trouble  and  in  grief,  O  God, 
Thy  smile  hath  cheered  my  way  ; 

And  joy  hath  budded  from  each  thorn 
That  round  my  footsteps  lay. 

'  The  hours  of  pain  have  yielded  good, 
Which  prosperous  days  refused; 

As  herbs,  though  scentless  when  entire, 
Spread  fragrance  when  they're  bruised." 


LIQUID  drops  of   crystal  brightness, 
Out  the  windows  of  the  soul, 

Now  and  then  are  seen   to  gather 
Newly  from  the  fountain's   goal. 

Were  it  harsh  and  cruel  accents, 

Lisped    by  some  inhuman   tongue? 

Breathed  the  burden  of   some   horror, 
Wildly  with  confusion   flung? 


The   Tear-Drop.  105 


Be  it  thus,  oh!  foolish  nature ; 

Stoop  to  fiendish  ills  that  sway; 
Know  you  not  where  is  another 

Faultless  Harbinger  of  day, 

Marks  the  wreck  of  weary  pilgrims 
Wand'ring  through  a  vale  like  this  ; 

Gives  to  heart  His  Spirit  holy, 
In  this  world  of  worldliness  ? 

Ne'er  distrust  the  hand  of  Greatness, — 
Goodness  'tends  thee  all  the  while, 

Fresh  from  out  the  fount  of  Freedom, 
Where  no  kindred  hearts  beguile. 

Every  tie  on  earth  be  severed, 
Every  seeming  friend  expel ; 

Still  Jehovah  reigns  eternal, 
And  He  doeth  all  things  well. 

Mourn  thou  not,  thou  blighted  spirit, 
Though  thy  state  be  sad  and  low; 

Thou  wilt,  ere  long,  dawn  immortal, 
Where  life's  cares  can   never  go. 
14 


106  The    Tear-Drop. 

Ever  languid,  cheerless  creature, 
Mock  not  at  His  high  decree ; 

Worship  at  His  shrine,  adore  Him, 
And    His  home  thy  home   shall  be. 

Liquid  drops  of  crystal  brightness 
Shut  out  part  the  light  of  day; 

Yet    thy  vision  gleams  with  wonder, 
And  thy  heart  hath  words  to  say. 

Oft  appears  the  little  tear-drop, 

Oozing  from  its  tiny  cell ; 
Careless  in  its  downward  flowing, 

But  some  hidden   stories  tell. 

It  may  be  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
Each  tfme  differing  in   their  sphere ; 

Yet  there's  that  of  moment,  note  ye, 
When  is  gushed  the  flowing  tear. 

Tis  by  means  that  we  are  moulded, 
Changed  according    to  His  will ; 

Sovereign   speaks,  but  silent  only, 

Though  some  means  are  sharp  and  shrill. 


The    Tear-Drop.  107 


Check  not,   then,  the  little  tear-drop, — 
Good,  perhaps,  that  it  were  there; 

Else  thy  seeing  eye  might  wonder, 
And  thy  soul  be  waste  and  bare. 

Better,  far,  thy  mind's  eye  gather 
Little  gems  to  deck  thy  brow 

In  the  paradise  of  glory, 
Where  no  beauties  fade  as   now, 

Than  be  fed  with  joyous    phantoms, 
Pleasing  as  the  summer  light, 

Fading  as  the  leaves  of  autumn 
Frosted  by  the  wintry  blight. 

Aid  me  by  thy  spirit  holy, 

Strengthen  whilst  on  life's  highway; 
Ever  guide  me  by  thy  counsel, 

Faultless  Harbinger  of  day. 

Then,  when  weary  days  are  ended, 
All  and  every  care  gone  by, 

Every  tear  that  shall  have  gathered 
Thou  wilt  wipe  from   sorrow's  eye. 


DEAR    MARIA. 


DEDICATED  TO  Miss  MARIA  BRONSON,— second  daugh- 
ter of  Rev.  Dr.  BRONSON,— while  on  her  way  to  Assam, 
India. 


WE  would  not  hold  you  back,  dear  girl, 

Go  where  your  duty  lies  ; 
Your  hope  is  not  for  worldly  gain, 

But  bliss  beyond  the  skies. 

Go !  labor  where  the  loved  one   wrought, 

In  Assam's  far  off  land ; 
Cheered  by  her  cherished  memory, 

Amid  that  stricken  band. 

Though   many  bitter  ills  assail, 
Still  may  your  prayers  ascend, 

And  may  you  trust  with  constancy 
Your  Father  and    your  friend. 


Dear   Maria.  109 


An  earthly  father,  too,  you  have, 

A  counselor  and  guide, 
Who  soothes  an  orphan,  called  to  be 

A  helper  by  his  side. 

Your  bark  is  now  upon   the  sea, 
And  tossed  from  wave  to  wave! 

We  ask  protection  from  the  Hand 
Whose  power  alone  can  save. 

Beyond  we  see  an  humble  cot, 
A  home  in  heathen  land, 

Where  many,  many  thousand  now 
In  Pagan  darkness  stand. 

There  go!   there  labor,  teach  and  guide 
The  wayward  and  the  blind, 

In  paths  of  peace  to  our  beloved, 
The  friend  of  humankind. 

Should  years  of  weary  toil  be  yours, 
Where  care  its  shadow  flings, 

The  Son  of  Righteousness  shall  rise 
With  healing  on  His  wings. 


110  Dear   Maria. 


What  peace  the  Gospel  promise  bears 

An  aching  heart  to  stay, 
When  sorrows  drear  beset  your  path 
In  distant  lands  away. 

Most  blest  will  be  your  joyous  lot, 
When  graves  give  up  their  dead; 

Your  brow  bedecked  with  many  stars, 
For  those  to  Jesus  led. 

Then  gladly  can  you  labor  on, 

Sure  of  immortal  bliss 
That  shall  repay  all  sorrow  borne 

In  such  a  world  as  this 


A    SENTIMENT. 


IF  the  fondest  hopes  that  thicken, 

Wedding  future  to  the  past, 
And  the  golden  chain  that  links  them, 

Should  with  tears  be  overcast, 
It  betokens  no  remembrance 

Of  some  wild  or  rude  display; 
For  in  sunshine,  as  in   sadness, 

There  are  tears  to  wipe  away. 

If  the  beam  of  love,  once  glowing, 

Should  be  abstruse,  faint  with  grief, 
And  the  gayer  hours  have  vanished, 

As  the  dew  upon  the  leaf, 
It  betokens  no  assurance 

That  the  boon  has  ceased  to  bloom, 
For  that  richer  gift  may  blossom 

'Neath  a  cold  and  silent  gloom. 


IF    LOVE   ALONE. 


"  ALAS  for  Love,  if  this  be  all, 
And  naught  beyond,  O  Earth." 

IF  love  on  every  feature  dwell, 

In  all  that  lisping  tongue  could  tell, 

Our  every  pearl  or  glittering  gem 

Seem  as  a  royal  diadem, 

It  would  not  reach  within  the  veil, 

But  perish  on  a  single  gale. 


If  love  for  self  and  love  for  man 
Were  wrought  in  one  protracted  span, 
With  every  tint  of  azure  hue 
That's  hid  in  Time's  remotest  blue, 
It  would  not  bound  on  heavenly  height, 
But  sink  ID   everlasting  night. 


//  Love  Alone.  113 


If  love,  that  love-wrought  kindle  tie, 

So  prevalent    beneath  the  sky, 

Was  wreathed  in  garlands  rich  and  fair, 

Perfumed  on   every  breath  of  air, 

It  could  not  reach  the  sunny  side, 

In  immortality   to  hide. 

If  love  and  friendship  wove   a  name 

That  could  secure  a  triple  flame, 

And  to  its  shrine  whole  nations  bow, 

In  joyous  triumph  even  now, 

Such  fumes  could    never  reach    the  Throne, 

But  perish  in  the   world   alone. 

If   love  alone,  or   love  confined 
To    this  contracted   space  combined, 
And  gatherings  from  all  seas  and  land, 
Comprise  a  massive,  loving  band, 
'T  would  then  be   sad,  how  sad  the  bliss, 
If   naught  beyond   a  world  like  this. 
15 


I   WOULD    NOT    BE   WITH    LOVE 
NOT    FOUND. 


*•  THOUGH  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and 
angels  and  have  not  love,  I  am  but  sounding  brass  and 
tinkling  cymbal. 

"And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  un- 
derstand all  mysteries  and  all  knowledge,  and  though 
I  have  all  faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains, 
and  have  not  love,  I  am  nothing."— BIBLE. 


IF  I  could  speak  with  graceful  tongue, 
Had  all  the  ills  of    nature  flung, 
Had  all  that  mortals  here  can  share 
Of   choicest  treasures,  rich  and  rare, 
And  to  my  eye  so  fitly  changed, 
Not  one  small  title  disarranged, 
Still,  without  love,  I  should  be  found, 
Like  tinkling  brass,   an  empty  sound. 


I  would  not  be  with  Love  not  Found.   115 


If   I  by  wisdom  could  discern 

The  many  lessons  yet  to  learn, 

And  pen  them  down   for  great  and  small, 

Heroic  mistress  of   them  all, 

And  from  these  draughts  erect  a  name 

Unequaled  on  the  mount  of  fame, 

Still,  without  love,  I  should  be  found 

Like  tinkling  brass,  an  empty  sound. 

Could  I  by   selfish   words  control 
The  very  substance  of   the  soul, 
Or  with  gigantic  skill  possessed 
The  noblest  eloquence  and   best, 
And  bore  it  with  a  princely  tread 
O'er  common  nature,  quiet  bred, 
Still,  without  love,  I  should  be  found, 
Like   tinkling  brass,  an  empty  sound. 

Were  all  my  life  clear  as  the  sun, 

My  every  act  in  candor  done, 

Should  clothe  the  poor,  the  hungry  feed, 

And  do  all  else  to  those  in  need 

That  would  secure  and  animate 

True  knowlege,  virtue  most  elate, 


116  I  would  not  ~be  with  Love  not  Found. 


Still,  without  love,  I  should  be  found, 
Like  tinkling  brass,  an  empty   sound. 

If   I  had  faith,  such  faith  to  prove, 

As  could  the  great,  huge  mountains  move, 

Or  scan  all  mysteries  new  and  old, 

As  common  millions  ne'er  unrolled, 

And  Hope,  the  friend  of   Faith,  should  stay 

With  double  prop  'Jong  life's  highway, 

Still,  without  love,  I  should  be  found, 

Like  tinkling  brass,  an   empty  sound. 


ONE    OF    MY    DAYS   ALONE. 


WELL,  so  it  is  a  cloudy  day  ; 

My  heart  is  cloudy,  too ; 
And  from  my  eyes  the  glist'ning  tears 

Are  falling  fast  to  view. 
I  see,  amid  the  gathering  blight, 

The  forms  of  those  I  love, 
Transplanted  from  this  prison   world, 

To  that  bright  world  above. 

0  sacred  Judge,  0  love  divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that  world  of  thine. 

1  feel  the  chilling  blasts  of  earth 
Encircle  round  me  here ; 

Cares,  disappointments  rage  without, 
And  sorrows  draw  so  near ; 

Yet  I  can  hope  as  those  have  hoped, 
Those  who  have  gone  before; 

For  love  still    lingers  on  the  breeze, 
And  hopes  on  mercy's  shore. 


118  One   of  My   Days   Mone. 


0  Bacred  Judge,   0  love   divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that  world  of   thine. 

No  fragrant  scent  perfumes   the  air; 

The  flowers  have  ceased   to  bloom, 
But  dream   within   the  night-hours'  watch, 

Of  flowers  beyond  the  tomb. 
More  pleasant  't  is  by  far   to  know, 

JT  is  not  as  here  to-day  ; 
For  there,  within   the  spirit  land, 

All  tears  are  wiped  away. 
0   sacred  Judge,  0   love  divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that   world  of  thine. 

There  is  a  Hand  sustains  me  here, 

And  strengthens  all   my  peace ; 
For  he  who  bid'st   the  tempest  roar 

Did  bid  the  tempest  cease. 
Most  happy  we,   to  us   these  words 

Found  in   the  Book  •  of  yore 
Established  to  expel  our  gloom, 

By  his  majestic   lore. 
0  sacred  Judge,   0  love  divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that  world  of  thine. 


One    of  My   Days   dlone.  119 


As  snow-flakes,  falling  from  the  clouds,. 

And  by  the  winds  are  driven, 
So  men,  as  by  the  breath  of  God, 

Are  carried  up  to  heaven. 
Delightful  world?    0   King  of  kings, 

Keserve  within   Thy  bower, 
All  mine  to  soul-retiring  rest, 

When  death  decides  the  hour. 
0  sacred  Judge,  0  love  divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that  world  of  thine. 

Let  deep  within   my  mem'ry  dwell 

The  debt  of  love  I  owe, 
That  when  the  breath  of  God  is  sent 

I'll  be  prepared  to  go. 
What  kind  memento  can  I  leave, 

What  requiem  can  be  given, 
When  I  from  out  this  prison   world 

Am  carried  up  to  heaven  ? 
0  sacred  Judge,  0  love  divine, 
Transfer  me  to  that  world  of  thine. 


THE    SAINTED    VISITANT. 


WHILE   in   the  shade  of  twilight   dim, 

When  the  sun  had  gone   to  rest, 
A  whisper  from  a  sainted  one, 

From  out  the  realms  celest', 
Was  pierced    into  my  silent  ear, 

And   in   the  secret  soul, 
The   fullness  which   can't  realize 

Until  I  reach   the  goal. 

While   in   the   shade   of  twilight  dim, 

When  the  gentle  whisper  came, 
A  form   seemed  bending  over  me 

As    she  lisped  each  pensive  strain, 
I  knew  it  was  my  mother  dear, 

Who'd  come  again   to  earth, 
With  a  pure  and  holy  aspect  bright, 

A  clear  and  stainless   worth. 


The    Sainted    Visitant.  121 


In   hand  she  held  a  golden   staff, 

A  life-crown  on  her  brow, 
And  the  splendor  of  her  glowing  face 

Is  with  me  even   now. 
I  list  to  catch  each  accent  as 

It  fell  from  love's  own   light; 
For  seraph   whisperings  they  were, 

The  whispering  of  delight. 

'Twas  sweet  to   learn  her  exit  to 

That  better  land  afar 
Was  so  elate   with  radiance, 

She  left  the  gate  ajar. 
It  was  with  seraph,  sacred  notes. 

And  glitt'ring,  golden  plume, 
They  bore  her  angel  spirit  there, 

Up   through   the   azure   dome. 

Their  lays  were  so  ecstatic   that, 
"With  plumes  which   shone  so  bright, 

She  knew  that  they  were  bearing  her 
To  starry  realms  of  light; 
16 


The    Sainted    Visitant. 


Amid  ethereal  pleasures  fair 
That  crown   the  saints  above, 

There  soon  she  saw  her  Father's  facer 
And  dwelt  with  him  in  love. 


Where  glories  of  the  heavenly   world 

Do  so  caress  the  ear, 
And  love,  life-giving  orison, 

Heard  never-ending  year, 
That  sweetest,  purest,  loveliest  lays 

Here  'neath  the  heaven's  sung 
Are  but  as  transient  wild-flowers  found 

Beside  the  vernal  sprung. 


I  asked,  could  I  accomp'ny  her 

To  that  celestial  sphere? 
But  with  a  mother's  tender  love 

She  wiped  away  my  tear, 
And  kindly  urged  me  stay  awhile, 

To  fill  my  task  of  love; 
'Twere  those,  she  said,  who  dwelt  in  court, 

And  filled  the  aisle  above. 


The   Sainted    Visitant.  123 


Th'  entreaties  of  that  sainted  one 

From  out  the  world  of  light 
To  me  were  quite  sufficient  with 

The  star  of  faith  in   sight; 
For  hy  its  light,  with   steady  tread, 

Shall  one  day  reach  the  goal 
Where  the  glories  of  that   better  land 

Will  light  the  secret  soul. 


While  in  the  shade  of  twilight  dim, 

In  trembling  awe  I  woke; 
For  th'  angel,  sainted  visitant, 

A  tender  farewell   spoke. 
Then  through  the  fragrant  scented  air, 

And  with  a  golden   plume, 
She  slowly,  calmly,  took  her  flight 

Up  through   the  azure  dome. 


TO   MY   FRIEND,    H- 


'T  was  here,  along  life's  labyrinth, 

Each  other's  gaze  we  met, 
And  happy   to  my  heart  and  mind, 

Each  social  feeling  let ; 
It  almost  seemed  a  wonderment 

Another  one  I'd  find, 

Thus  fashioned  nearly  like   myaelf, 

Or  like  my  fav'rite  kind ; 
I  did  not  once  suppose  'twould  be 

When  strangers  round  me  dwelt; 
But  oh!  how  cherished  is  the  fact 

That  disappointment's  felt! 

And  thus  along  life's  labyrinth 

We've  rambled  for  awhile, 
And  pleasantly   the  hours  have  passed, 

For  love  around  did  smile. 


To   My   Friend,    H-. 


These  love-lit  scenes  of  joy  and  pride, 

Those  hours  of  friendship  sweet, 
Those  hasty  moments,  how  they've  flown,- 

Those  moments,  oh!  how  fleet; 
As  they  have  passed,   may  others  still 

As  dear,  still  dearer,  be ; 
And  when   away,  one  thought  I'll   urge, — 

That  you'll    remember  me. 

Here,  traveling  'long  life's  labyrinth 

With  mingled  hopes  and  fears, 
I'll  view  the  pleasures  that  have  passed, 

And  wipe  away  my  tears. 
And  you,  my  dear  and  social  friend, 

In  lonely  hours  may  weep, 
But  Hope,  supporter  of  the  soul, 

Will  living  embers  keep. 
You  need  not  ask  if  in  my  heart 

You'll  still  remembered  be, 
For  were  I  ne'er  to  meet  you   more, 

You'd  be  in   mind  by   me. 

I've  parted  thus  with  many  a  friend, 
Delightful,  pure,  and  true; 


126  To   My   Friend,   H- 


Have  sighed  to  have  them  far  away, 

And  so  'twill  be  with  you. 
Be  pleasures  e'er  your  joyous  lot, 

And  happiness  your   doom; 
A  balm  to  soothe  each   touch  and  pain, 

And  peace  beyond  the  tomb. 
How  soon  that  tender  farewell  comes ; 

Soon  parted  we  must  be; 
But  once  again  the  thought  I'll   urge, 

That  you'll    remember  me. 


THE   THIRD    FLOWER. 


WE'LL  bless  the  day,  if  thus  it  be 

Again  on  life's  fair  flower 
That  beam  of  fond  affection  shines, 

To  cheer  this  lonely   hour. 

We  hope  'tis  well;    may  every  glow 

Of  bliss  around  you  smile; 
That  everything  on  earth  be  sweet, 

And  naught  that  sweetness  guile. 

Fair  flower,  he  caught  in  early  doom, 

To  know  a  mother's  care; 
Fair  flower,  endowed  with  timely  gifts, 

To  spend  in   fragrance  there. 

A  pleasant  home,  a  friendly  hand, 
A  kind  and   willing  heart, 


128  The    Third   Flower. 


Feed  on  the  manna  of  His  word, 
Till  death  alone  can  part. 

Tend  carefully  that   husband  dearr 

To  solace  every  pain ; 
His  fleshly  frame  is  frail  indeed, 

He  may  not  long  remain. 


Yet  cannot  know  the  will  of  Him 
Whose  loving  acts  demand, 

But  humbly  trust  He'll  hold  him  in 
The  hollow  of  His  hand. 


Preserve  him  still   till  other  days, 

Till  other  years  be  done, 
Before  his  heroic  spirit's  called 

Beyond  the  setting   sun. 

Be  good   unto  that  precious  boy, 
Your  husband's  fondest  care ; 

Teach  him,  in  accents  soft  and  meek, 
To  heed  a  father's  prayer. 


The    Third   Flower.  129 


Teach  him  to  know  a  mother's  pride, 
Teach  him  against  whose  breast 

His  infant  head  bent  droopingly, 
His  eyelids  closed  to  rest. 

Sweet  babe,  to  know  no  more  the  smile 

That  lit  her  starry  eye, 
But  from  that  love-lit  home  was  borne 

To  mansions  in  the  sky. 

So  strange  when  bliss  and  pleasantness. 

Bestowed  on  all  about, 
The  wave  of  death  dashed  to  and  fro, 

To  eke    her  being  out. 

That  lovely  flower,  that  being  fair, 

Surrendered    to  the  doom, 
But  died  to  live  and  bloom  again, 

Away  beyond  the  tomb. 

Mourn  not,  the  ways  of  God  are  just ; 
He  hears  with  earnest  care ; 
17 


130  The    Third,   Flower. 


He  by  His  providence  and  love 
Has  placed  another  there. 

Then  heed,  fair  flower,  such  place  betook, 

And  every  duty  tend; 
Tend  kindly,  truly  to  a  word, 

Till  life  itself  shall  end. 


HAPPY   NIGHT. 


OH!    happy  thought,  that  while  we  sleep, 
The  holy,  sacred  angels  keep 
Their  silent  watch  about  our  bed, 
With  their  pure  white  wings  overspread. 

Then  sweet  to  sleep;    no  thought  can  break 
The  peaceful  spell  till  morn  shall  wake; 
But  rest  while  in  the  shade  of  night, 
Cared  for  and  loved  with  true  delight. 

Oh!    happy  night,  oh!    social  rest, 
That  makes  our  being  seem  most  blest, 
Most  blessed  indeed,  for  midnight  air, 
Issues  no  sorrow  or  dispair. 

I  say  then,  oh!  how  sweet  to  sleep, 
A  placid  joy  that  seems  so  deep, 


132  Happy   Night. 


And  truly  one  to  tranquilize, 
Until  the  new-born  sun  doth  rise. 

And  thus  it  is  good  reason  we 
Should  ever,  ever  thankful  be  ; 
Praise  Him,  the  all  preserving  One, 
And  feel  to  say    "  Thy  will  be  done.' 


THE    STILL    SMALL   VOICE. 


IN  vain  the  whistling  \vind  may  pierce, 
And  force  its  current  wild  and  fierce, 
And  rend  the  branches  of  the  oak, 
Terrific  in  their  winding  stroke; 
'Twill  ne'er  disturb  my  meek  allay, 
Nor  waft  my  solitude  away. 

Yet  to  me  one  sound  is  dear; 

'T  is  the  still  small  voice  I  hear. 

Though  hard  may  beat  the  falling  rain, 

And  dash  against  the  window-pane, 

And  from  the  wood-trough  eaves  may  pour, 

The  deluge  as  of  cataracts'  roar; 

'Twill  never  break  my  tranquil  rest, 

Nor  rouse  my  tenement  at  best. 

Yet  to  me  one  sound  is  dear; 

'Tis  the  still  small  voice  I  hear. 


134  The  Still  Small   Voice. 


The  splendor  of  the  infant  tongue, 
When  joyously  their  notes  have  sung; 
More  precious  still  the  voice  of  glee 
When  prancing  round  the  mother's  knee. 
In  life's  green  spring,  these  notes  would  'thrall, 
Now  own  I  miss  them  more  than  all. 
Yet  of  all  on  earth  most  dear, 
'Tis  the  still  small  voice  I  hear. 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A 
PHYSICIAN. 


I  CANNOT  see  how  that  dear  friend  can  be  dead, 
Who  watched  o'er  so  carefully  the  sufferer's  bed. 
But  we  know  he  has  gone,  for  the  high  one  has 

spoken ; 
"We  ne'er  can  recall  him, — the  bowl  it  is  broken. 

I  know  that  our  God,  who  in  wisdom  is  just, 
And  he  in  whom  all  here  can  safely  put  trust, 
Has  spoken,  has  called  him  from  life's  busy  throng, 
To  a  heaven  where  purity  rests  not  with  wrong, 

He  has  gone,  he  has  tasted  realities  now, 
The  death  pallor's  fixed  on  his  beautiful  brow; 
He  has  passed  through  the  valley,  the   shadow 

that  lies 
Between  this  cold  earth  and  that  home  in  the  skies. 


136    Written  on  the  Death  of  a  Physician. 


We  can  think  of  him  now  in  that  heaven  of  rest, 
Where  the  sad  can  look  up,  and  the  weary  are  blest, 
Where  the  radiant  beams  from  the  bright  star  are 

shed, 
And  the  numbers  there  gathered  have  silently  fled. 

It  does  seem  so  strange  to  think  he  is  there, 
Away  with  those  millions,  away  from  this  care; 
We  feel  we  have  missed  him,  will  miss  him  still 

more, 
IFor  his  days  now  are  ended,  his  labors  are  o'er. 

I  ask  who'll  not  grieve  for  that  friend  who  has  fled, 
Who  watched  o'er  so  tenderly  the  sufferer's  bed ; 
But  alas!  he  has  gone,  for  the  high    One  has 

spoken ; 
We  ne'er  can  recall  him, — the  bowl  it  is  broken. 


TO     MY    AUNT, 

COMPLIANCE    WITH    HEK    BEQUEST. 


I  KNOW  of  nothing  better,  Aunt, 

To  speak  to  you  in  love, 
Than  tell  you  of   that  better  land, 

That  better  land  above. 
You  know  full   well  the  blooming  rose 

That  buds  beneath  the  sun, 
The  many,  many  cares  that  screen 

Whilst  we  this  journey  run ; 
Screen  from  those  rays  of  glory  bright,- 

Those  heavenly  rays  I  mean, — 
Those  tinted  hues  of  blissfulness, 

Where  Christ  and  love  are  seen. 

I   need   not  wish   to  slide  the  veil 
That  curtains  it  from  me, 
18 


138  To   My   Aunt. 


And  catch  a  perfect  glimpse  of  love, 

To  tell  it  all  to  thee. 
Tell  of  that  purer  land  of  light, 

That  land  of  heavenly  love, 
The  rivulets  and  the  diadems, 

That  cluster  far  above. 
The  happy  home,  the  peaceful  shore, 

The  shore  of  quiet  bliss, 
The  blissful  rest  for  weary  ones, 

Superior  to   this. 

The  little  spark  that  glimmers  near 

Bears  a  delightful  hue, 
Bears  pilgrims  to  their  lasting  home, 

Their  everlasting  view. 
It  will  suffice,  it  need  not  be 

More  brilliant    here  below, 
To  lead  you  through   the  trackless  wilds. 

And  purer  mercies  show. 
Shows  how  the  all-alluring  One 

Invites  the  gentle  gale, — 
Invites  you  to  that  better  land, 

The  land   within   the   veil. 


To   My   Aunt.  139 


I'm  sure  you'd  love  that  land,  Aunt. 

There  lovers   never  fail ; 
There    passports  are  already  sealed 

Within  the  happy  veil. 
There  unknown  pleasures  never  cease, 

There   joys  transparent  flow, 
Flow  in  one  living,  boundless  stream, 

There  ever,  ever  glow. 
Prepare  thy  heart,  take  rest  awhile, 

He'll  loudly  call  for  thee; 
When  in   the  startling,  echoing  sound, 

Let  peace  thy  calling  be. 

These  lines  are  written  by  a  friend, — 

A  social  friend  indeed, — 
A  friend  whose  every  act  may  prove 

To  be  a  friend  in   need. 
I  love  to  write  with  feelings  calm, 

With  feelings  kind  and    pure; 
It  binds  within   the  feeble  frame, 

Such  as  may  long  endure, 
Binds  love,   un wreathed  with  giddy   mirth , 

Substantial  and    sincere; 
And  makes  the  form  seem   eloquent, 

As  we  commingle  here. 


THE   DEAF    GIRL'S    LAMENT. 


A  BEAUTIFUL  and  lovely  tree 

Beside  the  window  grew ; 
I  see  its  leafy  branches  swing, 

As  something  tall  and    new, 
But  know  there  is  a   something  more, 

I  have  not  quite  forgot: 
There  is  a  sound  among  the  leaves, 

But  oh!  I  hear  it  not. 


The  little  birds  upon  the  wing, 

I  see  them  'light  around; 
Can  only  watch  them  as  they  fly, 

Or  perch  upon  the  ground. 
But  know  there   is  a  something  more, 

I  have  not  quite  forgot: 
They  sweetly  sing  their  little  song, 

But  oh!    I   hear  it  not. 


The   Deaf   Girl's   Lament.         141 


The  groves  still  have  their  pleasant  shades, 

And  I'd  delight  to  be 
One  of  the  thousand  ones  who  roam 

In  sweet  tranquility. 
But  know  there  is  that  something  more 

I  have  not    quite  forgot : 
The  whistling  of  a  joyous  song, — 

But  oh !    could  hear  it  not. 

I  see  the  dearest  friend  unite, 

And  eye  hespeaks  to  eye  ; 
And  by  the  move  of  ruby  lips, 

They  all  to  each   reply. 
But  know  there  is  a  something  more, 

I  have  not  quite  forgot : 
A  voice  like  music   fills  the  room, 

But  oh!    I  hear  it  not. 

I  see  the  little  ones  at  play, 
And  think  they're  happy  too; 

I  watch  them  in  their  childish  sport, 
With  beating  heart  and  true, 

But  still  there  is  that  something  more, 
I  have  not  quite  forgot: 


142          The   Deaf  Girl's   Lament. 


The  ringing  of   their  merry  laugh, — 
But  oh!    I  hear  it  not. 


There  is  a  good,  a  beautiful, 

For  every  heart  a  home; 
Life  borders  on  elysium,  though 

I'm  wearied   and  alone. 
I  know  too  well  there's  something  here, 

It  is  not  all  forgot: 
A  something  of   elysian  fair, 

But   oh !    I  heed  it  not. 


WRITTEN     ON     THE    DEATH     OF 
AN     INFANT. 


THOU  art  gone,   thou  art    gone,  gentle  babe, 
"Whom  so  fondly  thy  mother  embraced, 

Away  from  those  smiles  so  oft  mingled  with  tears, 
"Where  all  seasons  of   sorrow's   erased. 


Thou  art  gone,  thou  art  gone,  gentle  babe, 
To  that  land  where  the  sun  ne'er  shall  set; 

Where  the  dayspring  has  cast  her  full  lustre  of 

light, 
And  its   beauty   thou   wilst   ne'er  forget. 

Thou]  art  gone,  thou  art  gone,  gentle  babe! 

Kind  angels  are  tending  thee  now; 
There  hallow'd  thy  rest  on  His  bosom  most  bless'd, 

And  thine  like  the  seraphim's  brow. 


144  Written  on  the  Death  of  an  Infant. 


Thou  art  gone,  thou  art  gone,  gentle  babe ! 

Can  bid  but  a   silent  farewell ; 
But  the  promise  of  God  to  His  chosen  is,  that 

Of  His,  none  shall  ever  expel. 

Thou  art  gone,   thou  art  gone,  gentle  babe! 

But  know,  sure,  I  shall  meet  you  again ; 
For  the  love  that  is  buried  lies  anchored  in  trust, 

A  jewel  of  love  to  regain. 

Thou  art  gone,  thou  art  gone,  gentle  babe! 

Oh !  how  shall  I  ever  express  ? 
For    the  fountain   that  stirred   with    the   weak- 
ness  of   words 

Few-  feelings  of   thought  can  egress. 

Oh !  sad  heart,  oh !  sad  heart,  why  repine  ? 

I  would  that  thou  could'st  realize 
And  feel   this  affliction,  this  chastening,  is  but 

A  blessing  of  love  in  disguise. 


WHERE   SHALL   I   FIND   PEACE? 


Ix  the  home  I  loved  so  well, 
In  the  cottage  in  the  dell, 
Txmg  the  streamlets  pure  and   bright, 
Cheerful  as  the  gammer's  light? 
.  There,  is  it  there,   Mother  ? 

Is  it   in  the  country  fair, — 
Gould  we  meet  it  anywhere? 

*Long  the  wayside  is  it   hedged? 

Could  it  be  *mid  tafl  grass  pledged  ? 
There,  is  it  there,  Mother? 

Is  it  in  our  Tillage  bound, 

Where  the  people  seem  all   crowned, 

Wreathed  in  splendor  as  they  go, 

Making  such  a  gaudy  show? 
There,  is  it  there,  Mother? 
19 


146       Where   Shall   I  Find   Peace? 


Is  it  in  some   distant  land? 

Is  it  found  on  Afric's  sand? 
On  some  island    in  the  sea, 
Lovely,  beauteous,  and  free  ? 

There,  is  it  there,    Mother? 

Is  it  in  some  region  cold  ? 

Is  it  where   there's  sands  of   gold  ? 
Anywhere  among  mankind 
Such  a  thing  as  peace  to  find  ? 
Where,  anywhere,  Mother  ? 


THE    MOTHER'S    REPLY. 

IT  is  not  in  the  cottage, 
Nor  in  the  mansion  fair; 

No,  not  along  the   wayside, 
Nor  hedges  anywhere. 

It  is  not  in   our  cities, 
Not  in   our  country  found 


The   Mother's   Reply. 


It  is  not  in  our  valleys, 
Nor  anywhere  around. 


It  is  not  on   the  islands, 
Nor  far  on  Afric's  sand ; 

Not  in   this  sunny  climate, 
Nor  in   a  distant  land. 


'T  is  far  beyond  these  dwellings, 
Beyond  this  earthly  shore, 

In  that  upper  home  of  glory, 
Where  midnight  is  no  more. 

'T  is  there,  my  darling  daughter, 
Along  those  streamlets   bright, 

The    boon  of  peace  is    perfect 
As  the  sparkling   orbs  of   night. 

There,  fixed  on    yonder  highland, 
A  pledge  of   sacred    trust, 

A  pledge  of  peace  my  darling, 
From  the  Holy  One  and    Just. 


SEED-TIME. 


YE  children  fair  and  lovely, 

Whose    hours  go  lightly  by, 
With  th'  glowing  beams  of  morning 

Your  path  to  over-sky; 
Bear  ye  in  sweet  remembrance, 

While  far  from  care  and  strife, 
With  the  heart  yet  young  and  tender, 

'T  is  the  seed-time  of  your  life. 


Ye  gay  and   joyous-hearted 

With  sunshine  on    your  brow, 
And  the  dew  of  youth  distilling 

In  crystal    clearness  now, 
You  should  ever  well  remember, 

While  free  from  care  and  strife, 
While  the  heart  is  young  and  tender, 

'T  is  the  seed-time  of  your  life. 


Seed -Time.  149 


When  the  bloom  of  youth  is  opening 

Most  exquisitely  fair, 
And  the  starry  eyes  are  strangers 

To  the  world's  bewitching  snare, 
Oh !  bear  in  sweet  remembrance, 

While  unworn   with  care  and  strife, 
The  heart  is  young  and  tender, 
'Tis  the  seed  time  of  your  life. 

And  when  the  reaper's  whetting 

His  sickle  quick  and  fast, 
The  wheat  within  to  gather, 

And  the  tares  without  to  cast, 
May  your  golden  sheaves  be  many, 

Tho'  grown  mid  toil  and  strife, 
From  the  planting  deeply  rooted 

In  the  spring-time  of  your  life. 


THE   DYING    GIRL. 


"  'T  is  sweet,  oh  !  sweet  to  die 
When  Jesus  Christ  is  nigh, 
For  then  the  soul  fears  not  to  try 

Her  unfurled  wings. 
With  firm  and  fearless  flight 
She  soars  into  the  night, 
Knowing  she  soon  shall  reach  the  light 

Heaven's  morning  brings." 


'I  AM  going,  I  am  going,  I  shall  not  be  long, 
And  this  tongue  soon   will  lisp  its  latest  song, 
And  this  beating  pulse  will  then  cease  to  be. 
Oh!  shed  not  a  tear,  not  one  tear-drop  for  me. 
"I'm  going  to   the  highland, 
To  the  highland  green   and   fair, 
Where  loved  friends  have  met  together, 
And  will  know   no   parting   there. 


The   Dying   Girl.  151 


"I  am  failing,  I  am  failing,  I  shall  soon  have  fled, 
The  death-damp  is  on  me,"  the  dying  girl  said, 
As  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a  calm  look  of  love 
As  befitted  for  heaven  as  the  angels  above. 
"And  then  upon  the  highland, 
The  highland  green   and  fair, 
We  shall  meet  in  love  together, 
And  will  know  no  parting  there. 


"I  am  sinking,  I  am  sinking,  but  no  sorrow  is 

in  sight ; 
All  is  love,  pure  and  plenty,  in   the  world  of 

golden  light; 

And  whilst  upon  the  border,  with  faith's  all-see- 
ing eye, 
I  behold  the  promised  beauties  prepared  beyond 

the  sky. 

"And  there  upon   the  highland, 
The  highland  green   and  fair, 
We  shall  meet  in  love  together, 
And  will  know  no  parting  there. 
"  I  am  going,  I  am  going,"  and  the  word,  "Farewell," 
Was  the  very  last  from   her  cold  lips  that  fell; 


152  The   Dying    Girl. 


And  the  poor  dying  girl  sank  away  to  rest, 
As  the  orient  sun  that  sinks  in  the  west 
And  then  upon  the  highland, 
The  highland  green   and  fair, 
She  had '  met  in  love  together, 
And  will  know  no   sorrow  there. 


She  has  gone,  she   has  gone,  and  her  form  was 
laid 

In    the  church-yard    there,  'neath    the    old    oak 
shade, 

And  over  her  grave  may  the  green  myrtle  grow, 

And  the  night  winds  murmur  both  soft  and  low. 
But  there  upon  the  highland, 
The  highland  green  and  fair, 
She  now  dwells  in  love  together, 
And  will   know  no  parting  there. 


MY   VALUED    FRIEND. 


MY  friend,  I'm  thinking  of  you  now, 
And  wonder  where  are  you; 

In  life, — upon  some  well  known  spot 
To  live, — and  how  you  do. 


Long  months  have  passed,  and   even   years 

Have  too,  since  we  last  met; 
But  in  the  circling  round  of  thought, 

You  come  to  me  as  yet. 


I  see  your  slender  form,  your  dark 
Blue,  eyes  as  times    before, 

And  best  of  all,  that    kindly  look 
Of  love,  I  longed  for  more. 
20 


154  My    Valued,   Friend. 


Do  you  remember  well,  one  morn, 

When  down  the  lane  I   came, 
That  burst  of  joy,  so  true? — well,  now 

My  heart  is  just  the  same. 

That  was  a  happy  time, — I  deemed 

It  rich,  and,  too,  I    knew 
Your  heart  was  linked  with  mine  the  while, 

In  all  'twas  just  and   true. 

But  for  a  cause    best  unexpressed, 

On  earth  was  doomed  to  part, 
Still  deigned  to  each  that  love-wrought  claim, 

That  fastens  heart    to  heart. 

I'm  glad  for  this,  'tis  good,  'tis  well, 

But  would  we  could   unite, 
As  used  to  do  in  by-gone   days 

When  all  was  free  and  right. 

Cannot !     It  is  a  solemn   thought, 

To  think  so  it  must  be ; 
To  only,   o'er  the  long-linked   chain 

Of  miles,  speak  words  for  thee. 


My    Valued   Friend.  155 


And  too,  I  see,  upon  that  once 

Fair  brow  are  marks  of  care, 
Drawn  by  the  hand  of  time,  such  as 

Are  here  and  everywhere. 

Fain  would  I    lend  a  gentle  hand 
And  give  one  soothing  touch; 

One  sympathetic  smile  to  cheer 
Your  lone  heart,  or  some  such. 

But  th'  dividing  space  affords,  save 

An  imaginary  view, 
Coupled  with  reminiscences 

Of  the  past,  pure  and  true. 

I've  tho't  and  yearned  for  you,  my  friend, 

'Till  the  last  gleam  of  day; 
Now  leave  you  to  the  remembrance, 

Of   Him  who  loves  alway. 


THE   VOICE    OF    GOD. 


LINES    written    during    a    sweeping    sickness,    and 
many  deaths,  in  the  village  of  P ,  March,  1864. 


0 !    THIKK  ye  of  so  strangely 

The  sadness  of   our  place, 
As  if  unkind  hands  were  bidden 

To  lay  our  village  waste  ? 
To  spoil  the  heads  of  fam'lies, 

To  take  the  child  away, 
0,  no,  'tis  but  the  voice  of  God, — 

Of  God  who  speaks  to-day. 


Oh !  erring  ones,  why  wonder, 

For  He  who  places  here, 
Will  null,  or  He'll  enliven, 
la  ev'ry  clime  and  sphere; 


The    Voice   of  God.  157 


Must  know  that  he  requires, 
Inquired  of  will   be, 

The   Omnipotent'  Jehovah, 
Our  great  Creator,  He. 


And  know  ye  not  He's  willing, 

If  waiting  people  pray, 
To  bless  with  long  endurance, 

And  spare  them  day  by  day? 
And  well  He  knows  if  any 

In  "wayward  paths  have  trod, 
Can  speak,  for  He's  Jehovah, 

Our  great    Creator,  God. 


'Tip  so,  perhaps,  that  many, — 

And  that  is  why  He'd  speak,- 
Know  not  an  under  Shepherd, 

Nor  the  Koyal  Shepherd   seek. 
So  by  His  sovereign  power 

Is  heard  the  funeral  knell; 
Omnipotent  hath  spoken ! 

He  doeth  all  things  well. 


158  The    Voice   of  God. 


Awake,  all  ye  inhabitants, 

Ye  living  here  to-day, 
And  by  these  acts  of  Providence 

Be  taught  to  watch  and  pray; 
To  know  that  a  Redeemer 

Will  ev*ry  conflict  see, 
And  though  some  scenes  be   darkened, 

He'll  still  remember  thee. 


SECOND    MARRIAGE. 


WRITTEN   in   view   of  my   much   esteemed   friend, 
O.  H.  F D,  June  28th,  1863. 


YOUR  starry  pilgrimage  below 

Is  fixed  on  earth  again ; 
Such  sacred  scenes  of  social  bliss 

In  lovely  altars  lain. 

I'm  sure  'tis  most  a  happy  lot, 
Where    heart  compares  with  heart, 

And,  hand  in   hand,  together  stand, 
In  life  no  more  to  part. 

'T  is  goodness   God  in  mercy  lends 

From  yon   celestial  skies, 
To  knit  faith,  hope,  and  love,  to  be 

In  such   terrestrial  ties. 


160  Second   Marriage. 


With  armor  on,  and   "sun  so  clear, 
And  He  our  lasting  light/'  . 

Whose  sovereign  mercy  gave  you  aid, 
And  strengthened  your  delight. 

If  blighted  once  by  death's  cold  hand, 
And  chill  your  love's  embrace, 

'Twas  but  your  heavenly  Father's  will, 
To  fill  a  holier  place. 

Can  think  of  her  in   sunny  climes 

Beyond  a  cloudless  tomb, 
In  triumph,  for  her  Saviour  gave 

In   paradise  a  room. 

Her  latest  breaths  were  notes  of  praise, 
And  angels  caught  the  sound  ! 

Transparent,  too,  "her  name  she  saw 
On  Life's  fair  Book  was  found." 

'Twas  thus  she  bade  the  world  farewell, 

To  join  no  more  in  word 
With  you  in  consecrated  lays 

To  our  most  glorious  Lord. 


Second  Marriage.  161 


Then  for  awhile  you  stood  alone, — 
Alone  'mid  scenes  of  time, — 

Rejoicing  in  the  light  He  gave, 
Reflected  most  sublime. 

Pure  words  of  truth  you  promptly  told; 

You  said  to  man,  be  wise, 
Forsake,  receive,  rejoice,  and  go 

To  mansions  in   the  skies. 

But  blessed  be  a  Father's  will,— 
A  will,  too,  like  your  own, — 

That  He  another  hand  would  give, 
Another  heart  would  loan. 

Now,  bear  her  to  your  bosom  close, 

Still  leaning  on  His  rod ; 
Support  her  o'er  the  hills  of  life, 

And  lead  her  on  to  God. 

To  live,  be  praise  your  latest  breath; 

Let  angels  catch  the  sound; 
Transparent,  too,  your  names  enrolled 

On  Life's  fair  Book  be  found. 
21 


MY  NATIVE  STATE. 


THE  morning  sun  I  see  arise 

Kesplendent  in  the  eastern  skies ; 

And  in  its  light,  as  fine  and  fair 

The  flow'rets  bloom,  as  anywhere. 

The  trees  put  forth  their  clustering  leaves, 

The  harvests  yield  as  goodly   sheaves ; 

The  running  vines  their  Abundance  bear 

Of  fruit  as  choice,  as  rich  and  rare; 

But  though  the  fruit,  the  flowers,  and  sheaves, 

The  morning  light  and  clust'ring  leaves, 

With  all  I  try  to  love  of  late, 

Still,  best  I  love  my  Native  State. 


Here,  too,  each  little  liquid  brook 
Runs  pure  and  clear  at  every  nook, 
And,  by  the  rippling  waters'  flow, 
The  prickly  shrub  and  wild  flowers  grow, 


My  Native  State.  163 


And  music  breaks  the  silent  spell 
O'er  many  a  hill  and  fertile  dell, 
Borne  fresh  upon  the  fragrant  air, 
The  same  sweet  melody  as  there; 
But  though  the  fragrant  scented  air, 
And  hrooks  as  pure   as  anywhere, 
And  all  I've  tried  to  love  of  late, 
Much  best  I  love  my  Native  State. 

I  find  the  poor  with  little  store, 
Still  toiling  on   for  little  more, 
And  by  the  very  same  free  light 
The  joyous  with  their  means  and  might, 
Make  discount  on   the  hourly  space, 
Where  should  be  more  assuming  grace. 
So,  verily,  the  thing  be   true, 
That  some  rich  ones  are  poor  rich,  too. 
But  thou  the  ones  with  means  abound, 
The  poor  found  everywhere   around, 
And  all  I  try  to  love  of  late, 
Still,  best  I  love  my  Native  State. 

Most  certainly  there  are   some   such 
I  love  and  care  for  very  much; 


164  My  Native  State. 


Whose  pleasant  smiles  and  pleasing  air 
"Would  quell  the  dark  hour  of  despair. 
I  feel  to  think  and  judge  them  true, 
And  prove  it  by  the  acts  they  do. 
So,  as  the  vines  to  twigs  entwine, 
Their  loving  hearts  are  linked  with  mine. 
But  though  this  love,  these  acts,  this  air, 
And  smiles  to  cheer  me  everywhere, 
With  all  I  try  to  love  of  late, 
Much  best  I  love  my  Native  State. 

Home  of  my  childhood  and  my  youth, 
Where  I  was  led  in  paths  of  truth, 
Where  duty  bade  my  heart  comply, 
And  pass  the  earth-born  follies  by ; 
Deep,  deeper  still  my  soul  awakes, 
And  to  the  shad'wy  vale  it  breaks, 
Where  lies  a  precious  treasure  hid 
Down  underneath  the  surface  lid. 
So  dear  to  me  that  distant  spot, 
I'm  sure  'twill  never  be  forgot; 
And  oft  it  seems  my  heart  would  break, 
Still  yearning  for  my  Native  State. 


LITTLE    TUDIE. 


LITTLE  TUDIE,  how  \ve  love  her! 

Precious  little  one  is  she; 
Beauty  on  her  brow  is  beaming 

With  a  glow  of  ecstasy. 
Happiness  is  brooding  round  her, 

Round  the  little  tottering  one ; 
Hearts  ne'er  spoken  half  their  pleasure, 

Seeming  only  just  begun. 
Yes,  we  love  her.    See  her   going, — 

Up  and  down  her  little  feet; 
Prattling,    cooing,   stumbling,  falling, 

Over  all  she  haps   to  meet. 
Then  the  mother,  careful,  tends  her, 

Calls  her  "precious  little  chick," 
Wipes  away  the  tear  that's  gathered, — 

Wonders  if  her  babe  is  sick. 


166  Little    Tudie. 


Hushed  and  soothed,  all  anguish  over, 

Once  again  renews  her  pace, 
Playfulness  so  plainly  pictured 

In  her  little   roguish  face. 
Always  welcome, — father  takes  her, 

Gives  a  kindly,  willing  kiss; 
With  a  heart  of  rapture   glowing, 

Thinks  he  knows  a  world  of  bliss. 
What  a  treasure   in  the  household, — 

What  aspiring  joys  impart, — 
What  a  eoft,  momentous  feeling, 

Binding  past  from  heart  to  heart. 
Sure  there  is  no  sort  of  pleasure 

Half  as  exquisite   as  this, 
Half  as  lovely  in  its  heauty, — 

Lovely  as  our  Tudie   is. 

"I  ask  no  more  in   joy  or  pride, 

Than  ever  be  my  baby's  guide." 


A    DREAM. 


I   DREAMED  one  night  of  a  starry  west, 
And  close  to  my  view  the  vision    press'd ; 
The  stars  that  seemed  at  first  but  few, 
As  I  longer  gazed,  in   their  number  grew. 

And  soon  arose  such  a  halo  there, 
A  beautiful  bow,   so  bright  and  fair, 
Some  stars  within,  and  some  without, 
That  I  looked   with   wonder  the   world  about. 

And  the  stars  had  a  swiftly  brightening  glow, 
Till  it  seemed   a  flood  over  all  below; 
For  their  rays  spread  far,  like  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
And  I  conned  their  glories  one  by  one. 

Then  assurance  came  that  those  orbs  were  mine ; 
It  gladdened   my  heart  like  a  thing  divine; 


168  A   Dream. 


And  my  soul  was  full,  and  my  pulse  beat  high, 
As  I  stood  alone  'neath   a  cloudless  sky. 

The  bow  was  that  of  a  golden  hue, — 
It  had  neither  crimson,  purple,  nor  blue; 
So  unlike   the  beauteous  one  in  the  cloud, 
I  watched  and  wondered,  nor  spake   aloud. 

The  sight  was  a  joyous  one  to  see, 

And  I  yearned  to  know  if  its  sign  might  be 

Of  some  long-waited  better  day 

To  dawn  on  me  with  its  golden   ray. 

And  then  from,  my  beautiful  dream  I   woke; 
Too  soon  I  saw  that  the  spell  had  broke; 
We  had  nothing  left,  my  soul  and  I, 
Of  a  vision  that  sped  like  a  meteor  by. 

But  even  now  as  I  sit  and  write, 
And  think  of  the  beautiful  dream  that  night, 
My  soul  with  the  happy  hope  is  blessed 
That  my  sun  will  set  in   a  golden   west. 


THE    HEART    OF   THE    YOUNG. 


IF  there  is  found  a  genial  tie 

That  bindeth  heart  to  heart, 
A  link  that's  parallel  with   truth, 

To  only  love  impart, 
That  hath  a  bearing  great   or  small, 

A  bearing    high   or  low, 
Unshaken    by  the  blasts  of    time, 

A  concentrated  glow, 
A  fascinating  charm  on  earth, 

A  filial  beauty  sprung, 
'T  is  truly  an  unerring  fact, 

Such  are  found  in  the  heart  of  the  young. 

If  there  is  joy  and  happiness 

Embosomed    most  complete, 
And  with   a  clear  and   tranquil  gaze 

Each  timely  aspect  greet; 
22 


170          The   Heart   of  the    Young. 


Aspiring  zeal    sublimely  hung, 

And  hope   to  that  extend, 
With  marked  enthusiasm  bold 

That  makes  the  world  amend, 
Without  a  transient,  wayward    guile, 

Amid  the  treasure    flung, 
It  must  be  an  unerring  fact, 

Such  are  found  in  the  heart  of  the  young. 

If  true  that  there's  a  golden  thread 

Entwines  the  human  soul, 
A  three-fold  cord  that  cannot  break, 

Or  cannot  e'er  unroll, 
And  hath,  much  like   the  jessamine, 

Full  many  a  tangled    clew, 
And  bearing  fair  and  beauteous  buds 

Enriched  with  early  dew, 
And  whereupon    is  ever  found 

A  peaceful  conscience   strung, 
It  must  be  an  unerring  fact, 

That's  found  in  the   heart  of  the  young. 

If  ever  there   is  sense   to   feel 
Between  the  right  and  wrong, 


The   Heart   of  the    Young.         171 


A  care  to  own  the  honest  part, 

And  lisp  a  joyous  song; 
To  have  a  friend  who  will  not  fail, 

Though  all  beside  should  spurn, 
And  with  effectual   confidence, 

Each  from  the  other  learn; 
When  such  like  blissful  influence  rise, 

More  glorious  than  the  sun, 
It  must  be  an  unerring  fact, 

These  are  found  in  the  heart  of  the  young. 


If   happy  thoughts  are   known  to  rise, 

Delightful  all  the  day. 
With  never-ceasing   joys  to  glide 

From  morn  till  evening  ray ; 
And  if   the  lighted    spirit  seems 

Untiring  as  the  moon ; 
The  daisies  sweet  are  all  their  own, 

A  fragrant  pathway  boon  ; 
And  if   with  love-wrought  melody 

Each   cordial    anthem   rung, 
'T  is  truly  an  unerring   fact, 

These  are  found  in  the  heart  of  the  young. 


THE     OCEAN. 


;EOLL  on,  thou  deep,  and  dark  blue  ocean,  roll." 

— BYRON. 


THE  dark  blue  ocean's  ceaseless  roar 
Was  just  the  same  in  days  of  yore. 
Have  critics  e'er  observed  its  sense, 
And  boasted  of  its  eloquence? 

That  loud  deep  roar,  how  passing  sweet, 
There  where  the  bounding  billows  meet, 
Whose  foaming  surf  turns  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  dashes  'gainst  the  rocky  shore. 

The  dark  blue  ocean's  just  the  same; 
Though  many  have  crossed  its  wat'ry  main 
There  is  no   track  to   mark  their  way, 
For  still  the  bounding  billows  play. 


The    Ocean.  173 


How  harsh,  how  rude  their  gestures  are! 
How  wide,  how  circling,  and  how  far 
From  shore   to  shore  their  billows  roll, 
And  spread  their  dance  from  pole  to  pole. 

Lord  Byron,  on  his  lofty  height, 
Once  stopped  to   quench  his  appetite, 
Stooped  to  address  the  ocean's  haze, 
And  loudly  uttered  forth  its  praise. 

Dash  on,  thou  dark  and  heavy  mass! 
Deep  swelling  current,  onward  pass; 
Still  dash,  and  roll  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  throw  thy  bounding   billows  o'er. 


THE   LONELY    SISTER. 


THE  day  has  seemed  long,  and  how  can  I  stay, 
Or  sit  alone  longer,  and  have  you  away  ? 
And  will  you  not  come,  my  sweet  sisters,  to  me, 
I  am  constantly  wishing,  am  waiting  for  thee. 

To  the  garden  so  green  have  I  oft  looked  away, 
And  list  to  the  singing  birds,  merry  and  gay; 
But  no  flowers  so  fair,  nor  a  song  was  so  sweet 
As  to  spoil  me  from  longing  my  sisters  to  meet. 

My  feelings  are  sad,  but  I  cannot  refrain, 
The  tears  that  are  flowing  are  flowing  in  vain. 
For  I  know  very  well  I  am  not  yet  to  see; 
Each  prospect  is  blasted,  is  darkened  to  me. 

Oh !  why  do  you  tarry  and  leave  me  to  roam, 
Or  sorrow  and  pine  mid  the  pleasures  of  home? 


The   Lonely   Sister.  175 


As  if  you  could  ne'er  more  enjoy  a  review 
Of  the  scenes  of  our  childhood,  where  love  spark- 
led true. 

The  rain-drops  are  falling,  have  laden  the  grass ; 
I  hear  them  now  tapping  so  hard  'gainst  the  glass, 
It  seems  they  were  tapping,  were  talking  to  me, 
I  would  I  could  hear  but  a  tapping  from  thee. 

My  spirit  would  triumph  o'er  sorrow  that's  past, 
And  leave  it  to  linger  and  pine  in  the  blast, 
Whilst  the  beauties  of  gladfulness  burst  over  me ; 
I  then  would  be  happy,  sweet  sisters,  with  thee. 

But  alas!  I  am  here,  like  some  poor,  lonely  guest, 
And  the  sun  it  has  sunk  in  the  far  distant  west; 
I  have  watched  the  dark  shade  as  the  night  has 

drawn  near: 
Oh !  come,  my  sweet  sisters,  I  would  welcome  you 

here. 


THE    YOUNG    BRIDE. 


"  MY  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 
My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." 

HERE,  on  thy  arm,  sweet  love,  I   lean, 

And  like  a  garland  fair, 
Is  woven  my  own    dear  soul  to  thee, 

In   the  light  of  summer  air. 

Yes,  I  can  fashion  those  glossy  locks; 

And  ever  by  thy  smile 
May  know  the  fullness  of  thy  vast  soul 

Will  never  me  beguile. 

I'm  sure  I  can  trust  in    thee,  my  love, 
And  make  thy  heart  my  throne; 

For,  since  by  the    light  of   thy  pure  eye, 
My  every  care  has  flown. 


The    Young   Bride.  177 


I  can  follow  thee  o'er  the  sea  of  life, 

Whatever  the  tide   may  be; 
And  if  the  billowy  waves  run  high, 

I  am  ever  still  with   thee. 

I  know  I  can  shelter  beside  thee,  love, 

Where'er  on  earth  thou  art, 
And  feel  forever  more  'twill  be 

The  dear  home  of  my  heart. 

For,  ever  since  my  eye  beheld, 

I  chose  thee  for  my  guide; 
And  now  on  thy  arm,  sweet  love  I  lean. 

Thy  own  meek,  cherished  bride. 

What  further  hope  or  heaven   need  be  ? 

Since,  like  a  garland  fair, 
Is  woven  my  own  dear  soul  to   thee, 

In  the  light  of  summer  air. 
23 


THE  BEGGAR  BOY. 


HE  came,  alas!   poor  beggar  boy, 
As  poor  as  poor  could  be ; 

His  wretched,  dirty,  tattered  clothes 
"Were  wonderful  to  see. 


As  he  upon  the  threshold   stood, 
So  tremblingly  with  grief, 

One  ray  of  hope  was  in  his  breast, 
And  beamed  for  his  relief. 


I  saw  a  bright,  clear,  crystal  tear 
Course  down  his  rosy  cheek, 

And  underneath  those  drooping  lids, 
Eyes  dove-like,  soft  and  meek. 

Those  jetty  locks,  in  wavy  flow, 
A  noble  brow  concealed  ; 


The  Beggar  Boy.  179 


And  from  his  lips  fell  many  a   word, 
And  many  a  truth  revealed. 

I  need  not  tell  all  that  he  told 

Of  misery  and  woe; 
And,  furthermore,  I  need  not  add 

The  cause  that  made  him  so. 


But  from  the  lesson  that  he  gave, 

And  from  his  lonely  air, 
There  fastened  in  my  heart  for  him, 

Deep,  sympathetic  care. 


He  sheltered  with  us   in   a  cot 

Upon  a  lovely  green, 
And  livelier  grew  the  beggar  boy, — 

More  cheerful  soon   was   seen. 


'  T  was  learned,  ere  years  had  rolled  their  round, 

Or  even  months  had  passed, 
The  virtue  of  the  beggar  boy 

Was  most  immensely  vast. 


180  The  Beggar  Boy. 


He  had  it  treasured   in  his  heart, 

The  fact  he  could  not  lie; 
Or  if  a  sinful  act  he  did, 

His  Maker,  God,  would  spy. 

So,  in  this  true  and  holy  way, 

He  onward,  upward  grew, 
Till  scarce  a  man  'mong  thousand  men 

Seemed  ever  half  as  true. 

His  dwelling  now  is  on  a  plain, 

A  gothic  great  and  high ; 
God  blessed  the  honest  beggar  boy 

Who  could  not  tell  a  lie. 

And  now,  my  little  readers,  you 

A  goodly  lesson  learn: 
Do  as  the  little  beggar  boy, 

And  every  evil  spurn. 


IDEAS 

THAT   OCCURRED  AFTER   LEARNING   OF  MY  FRIEND 
M 'S     MARRIAGE    VOW. 


I  SEEM   to"  feel   a  something, 

A  something  in   my  heart, 
And  to  my  ears  a  whispering, 

That  you  and   I  must  part, 
I  ask,  Can  this  be  surely, 

A  tale  like   this  so  sad  ? 
And;  can   it  ne'er  allure  me, 

And  turn   all  sadness  glad  ? 
For  thee  I  hope,  most  truly, 

A  pleasant]  path  through  life  ; 
Be  to  thy  husband,   wisely, 

A  meek  and  loving  wife. 
I  seem  to  think  of  bygones, 

Whilst  thinking  thus  of  thee; 


182  Ideas. 

Can   all   our  cares  be  bygones, 

Each   from   the  other  free  ? 
Could  ever  pinions  flutter, 

And    bear  our  love  away? 
A   something  seems  to  mutter, 

They  never,  never  may. 
Perhaps  our  days  of  pleasure 

Are  very  nearly  o'er ; 
But  in  the  eternal  morrow 

There's  parting  never  more. 


Then   must  I  form   to  mem'ry 

The  by-gone  days  of  yore, 
And   rest  on   nurtured  energy 

I  had   so  long    before. 
Come  to  me  in  the  night-time, 

When  cares  are   tossed  away; 
Yes,  in   the  hush  of  midnight 

A  silent  visit  pay. 
Then  when  the  sun   has  risen 

So  beautiful   and  bright, 
My  mind  will  seem   all   freshened 

With  solace  of  the  night. 


Ideas.  183 

How  often    in   our  spring-time 

"Would  part  to  meet  again; 
But  soon  another  meeting, 

The  parting  one  of  pain. 
Though  many  walk  beside  me, 

The   sparkling  and  the  gay, 
'Twill  seem  all  strange  without  thee 

To  cheer  my  lonely  way. 
'Twill  seem   as  if  my  moments 

Of   pleasure  all  were  o'er; 
But  in   the  eternal  morrow 

We'll  meet  to  part  no  more. 


There  is  so   much   in   lifetime 

Controlling   to   the   mind, 
So   much   we  need   remember, 

So  much   that  seems  to  bind, 
That  by,  and  by,   when   changes, 

And  new   things  have  appeared, 
And  years  roll  on   like  ages, 

"With   many  forms   upreared, 
Then   would  YOU  quite  forget    me, 

And   think  no  more  of  her 


184  Ideas. 

Who   used  so   oft   to  greet  you, 

And  in  your  path   occur? 
But  hush!    I'll  let  another, 

Another  voice  than  mine, 
With  deeper  love  than  brother's, 

Close  to  your  heart  entwine. 
How  sacred  be   that  tendril, 

Uniting  two   in   one ! 
As  precious   as  an  em'rald, 

Enlivening  as  the  sun, 
From  me  you'll  part,  thro'  friendship, 

With  beams  of  love   still  dear, 
Like  the  far-off  stars  of  heaven, 

May  shine  as  bright  and   clear. 


THE    LITTLE    ONES. 


HAPPY  children,  all  at  play, 
Cheerful  as  the  summer  day, 
Round  and   round  the  parlor  floor, 
Playing  "peep"    at  every  door; 
Rosy  hue  upon  the   cheek ; 
Bright  eyes  looking    soft  and  meek ; 
Health  and  beauty  on  each   brow ; 
Joyous  in   their  pleasures  now. 

Well    it  interests  my  heart ! 

Not  that  I   would  play  their   part,- 

Only   that  I  wish,  I   say, 

I   was  innocent  as   they. 

See   them  go   the  circle   'round, 
With  a  merry  shout   and  bound  ; 
Silken  tresses  rise  and   fall, 
Cov'rihg  forehead, — nearly  all  ; 
24 


186  The   Little   Ones. 


Underneath,  a  sunny  smile, 
Fair  and    beauteous  the  while, 
Gladly  spend  the  hours  at  play, 
Little  ones  in  childhood's  day, 
And  it  interests  my  heart ! 
Not  that  I  would  play  their  part, 
Only  that  I  wish,  I  say, 
I  was  innocent  as   they. 

Scores  of  happy  visions  spread, 
To  their  hearts  and    minds  are  wed 
Soaring  in   their  airy  flight 
Far  beyond  the  reach  of  sight. 
Yet,  ah !    yet  they  careless  tread, 
Heeding  not  the  moments  fled; 
Onward  in  their  sportive  glee, 
Gaily,  weariless,  and  free. 

How  it  interests  my   heart! 
Not  that  I  would  play  their  part, 
Only  that  I  wish,   I  say, 
I   was  innocent  as  they, 


FATHER'S    OLD    TUNE. 


much   and  many  things  in   store,' 
That  happened  in   the  days  of'  yore, 
There's  none  more  firmly  fixed  in  mind, 
Nor  dearer  would    I   wish   to  find, 
Than   that  old  tune  so  often  hummed 
When  every  hard  day's  work  was  summed. 
It  went, — Chink  chank,  chink  chank  chinky, 
Chank  chink,  chink  chank  chink, 
Chank  chinky,  chank  chink. 

And  as  I  leaf  o'er  memory's  will 
And  read  anew  its  pages,  still 
I  find   it  so  recorded   there, 
So  plainly  does  my  memory   bear, 
That  I  can   truly  hear  and   see 
As  when   he   took   me  on   his   knee: 
It  went, — Chink,   cbank. 


188  Father's    Old    Tune. 


See   how   us  children,  clambering,  clung; 
Arms  snug  around    his  neck,  we  hung. 
And  when  at  times,  our  foothold  missed, 
He  soon  replaced  and  kindly  kissed. 
Now  this  was  as  in  days  of   yore, 
And  that  old  tune  I  have  in  store : 
It   went, — Chink,  chank. 

Full  many  a  long  cold,  wintry  eve, 
With  tired   aches,  I   now  believe, 
My  dear  and  much-loved    mother's  stand 
Was  fraught  with   skilled  work  by  her  hand; 
But  father's  hard  day's  work  was  summed, 
So  o'er  again   his  tune  he  hummed: 
It  went, — Chink,   chank. 

But  now   my   mother's  toils   are   done, 
And  all  't  was   love  beneath   the  sun ; 
And  father,  with  his  furrowed  brow, 
Has  different  cares   and  sorrows  now  ; 
And  though  his  hard  days'  works  are  summed, 
We. hear  no  more  the  tune  he  hummed, 
That  went,— Chink,   chank. 


I  NEVER  LOVED   BUT   ONE. 


I  NEVER  loved  but  one. 
He  came  to  me  when   first  the   blushing  rose  of 

girlhood 

Had  settled  on  my  brow; 
'Twas  when  those  giddy  fancies  curl 
That  break  in  sorrow  now! 

Break  to  be  forever  broken ! 

There  is  no  change  for  me. 
The  gallant  ones  have   spoken, 
Have  cast  my  lot  from  thee. 

I  never  loved  but  one. 
In  humble  tones  of  eloquence  he  breathed  forth 

solemn  vows 

Drained  from  the  heart's  deep  well; 
The  joy,  the  grief,  that  it  has  brought, 
Eternity  can  tell. 


190  I  Never  Loved  but   One. 


Tell — can  tell  of  hearts  that  are  broken, 
Of  hearts  that  are  beating  free; 

Tell   of  one  tender  token, 
A  token  true  from  thee. 


I  never  loved  but  one. 
Let  echoes  lend   a   louder   shrill,   and    teach   in 

magic  sound 

Thy  sweet,  unerring  voice; 
'Tis  true  thou  arb,  though  far  away, 
My  early  only  choice. 

Choice — can  choose  no  other,  never! 

There  is  no  change  for  me ; 
The  gallant  ones  did  sever, 
Did  cast  my  lot  from  thee. 


MY    THANKS 


THE  guide  who  o'er  so  many  miles 
And  cragged  hills,  and  rugged  piles, 
Has  safely  kept  me  through  these  wilds, 

I  thank. 


The  bowed  and  feeble  gray-haired  man 
Of  tottering  step  and  'wildering  plan, 
Who  cheers  and  aids  as  best  he  can, 

I  thank. 


Her,  who  has  felt  life's  keenest  thorn, 
Has  long  a  crown  of  sorrow  worn, 
Yet  soothes  a  spirit  wrecked  by  scorn, 

I  thank. 


My   Thanks. 


Her,  who  in  costly  robes  can  shine 
But  still  a  list'ning  ear  incline, 
And  yielded  sympathy  divine, 

I  thank. 

Her  who  in  youth's  bewitching  wile 
Has  buoyed  my  sinking  heart  the   while, 
And  blessed  me  with   a  cheerful  smile, 

I   thank. 

Those  who  have  proved   to  love  me  best, 
Who  chose  me  for  their  favorite  guest, 
And  'gainst  my  cheek  their  soft  lips  pressed, 

I  thank. 

Those  who  have  chased  the  cloud  away, 
Who  bade  my  weary  footsteps  stay 
Apart  from  sultry   Summer's  ray, 

I  thank. 

Such  as  have  done,  or  here  or  there, 
A  parent's  part  in  love  and  care, 
And  breathed  for  me  one  fervent  prayer, 

I  thank. 


NIAGARA    FALLS. 


So  HURRIEDLY,  hastily,  onward  you  go, 

You  heed  not  the  bowlings  of  wild  winds  or  snow ; 

No  rest  on  thy  bosom,  no  burk  on  thy  sea, 


And  one  thy  continuance  thro'  all  ages  shall  be. 


Thou  wert  form'd  by  Jehovah's  most  powerful  hand; 
He  marked  out  the  valley  and  piled  up  the  land; 
He  filled  in  the  water,  a  notable  fact, 
And  established  the  flow  of  the  great  cataract. 


Thou  wert  there  ere  a  tree  or  a  shrub  ever  grew, 
Ere  the  hawk,  or  the  owl,  or  the  turtle-dove  flew; 
When  the  base  of  creation's  foundation  was  laid, 
Thy  hard,  rock-bound  coast  was  effectually  staid. 
25 


194  Niagara    Falls. 


Thence  onward  thy  course,  with  a  measureless  flow, 
The  foam  keeping  pace  with  the  rapids  below; 
And  the  spray  from  thy  breast,  like  the  dew  on 

the  hill, 
O'er  the  moss-covered  rocks  has  been  ever  distilled. 

The  eye  of  the  red  man  once  gazed  with  delight 
As  he  stalked  through  the  wood  to  thy  borders 

so  bright, 

From  the  hut  or  the  wigwam,  so  proudly  and  bold, 
To  spy  out  thy  sportings  which  ages  have  told. 

Long  years  bring  their  changes  at  home  and  abroad; 
The  wild  lands  are  tilled  where  the  red  man  once 

trod, 
The  haunt,  with  the  hut,  and  the  fierce  beasts  of 

prey, 
Alike,  with  the  red  man,  have  all  passed  away. 

Yet  bold  is  thy  current,  and  onward  to  bear; 
No  spell  has  assuaged  through  the  long  ages  there; 
No  change  has  arrested  the  wave  curling  free, 
And  one  thy  continuance  thro'  all  ages  shall  be. 


MY    OLD    BOX. 


MY  dear  old  box,  my  treasure  box,  where  things 

both  new  and  old 
Are  laid  therein  more  carefully  than  glittering 

pearls  and  gold; 
And  better  far,  to  me,  than   they,  for  heart  and 

soul    are  there, 
And,  like  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  it  haunts  me 

everywhere. 

It  is  the  same,  the  very  same, — I  had  it  long  ago, 
And  there,  between  those  dingy  sides,  each  little 

scrip  I  stow; 
When,  now  and  then,  it  seems  to  give, — I  almost 

think  it  wrong, — 
Pshaw !    I  take  my  needle   bold  and   stitch  the 

corners   strong. 


196  My    Old   Box. 


There  is  no  wreath,  no  golden  leaves,  nor  flowery 

sculptured  mold, — 
In  fact,  there's  naught  about  the  box  that's  worth 

one  grain  of  gold ; 
Old,  homely,  dirty,  crooked,  and  scratched, — to  say 

I  love  it  well, 
Seems  like  some  wild,  romantic  tale  that  modern 

sages  tell. 


The  thought  of  how  it  looks,  and  is,  is  just  as 

good  to  me 
As  anything  that  man  could  make,  or  even  wish 

to  see. 
I'll  ask  no  better.    No  ?    Now,  pray,  what  better 

can  remain? 
For  there  is  not  a  single  thought  that  I  at  all 

disdain. 


Yes,  blessed,  dear  old  treasure  box,  the  bottom 

part  of  twain; 
And  when  I  take  it  in  my  hand,  I  seldom  take 

in  vain. 


My   Old   Box.  197 


As  if  from  some  new  fount  of  hope,  where  lasting 

comforts  flow, 
My  weary,  care-worn  soul  is  filled  with  ecstasy 

below. 


Now  who  can  sympathize  with   me  iu  all  that  I 

have  said? 
In  truth,  I  do  confirm   the  fact  that  heart  and 

box  are  wed. 
From  youth  to  happy  maidenhood,  and  e'en  as 

age  comes  'long, 
It's  been  my  love,  my  joy,  my  trust,  my  center 

and  my  song. 


And  while  I  tread  the  path  of  life,  bestrewed  with 
toil  and  care, 

The  much  that's  good,  the  much  that's  ill,  both 
I  expect  to  share; 

But  thou,  like  some  kind,  guardian  friend,  whose 
faithful  care  doth  keep, 

Still  treasureth  up  both  new  and  old ;  why,  there- 
fore, do  I  weep? 


OUR    SOLDIER   BOY. 


OUR  soldier  boy  is  going, — 

How  honorable  the  name, — 
With  a  heart  of  rapture  glowing 

For  his  country's  glorious  fame. 
I  saw  upon  his  cheek  no  tear, 

No  faltering  voice  was  heard, 
As  round  the  family  circle  he 

Bespoke  that  farewell  word. 

Our  soldier  boy  is  going 

To  face  our  country's  foe, 
With  a  stern  and  eager  earnestness, 

His  lot  be  weal  or  woe. 
I  saw,  unveiled,  his  boy-like  face, 

His  gestures,  new  and  old, 
And  wondered  if  great,  gallant  men 

Were  even  half  as  bold. 


Our   Soldier   Boy.  199 


Our  soldier  boy  is  going, 

His  duty  to  fulfill, 
With  a  hope  of  calm  devotedness 

That  'tis  his  Maker's  will; 
That,  while  the  angry  tempest 

Is  swelling  in  our  land, 
The  high-throned  God  of  battles 

Will  hold  him  in  His  hand. 

Our  soldier  boy  is  going, — 

We  gave  him  freely  up ; 
And  if  'tis  He  who  calleth, 

He'll  sweeten  every  cup. 
So  if  the  shades  of  darkness 

Are  gath'ring  o'er  us  now, 
New  springings  forth  of  gladness 

Will  brighten   every  brow. 


WAR'S  DREADFUL  SCOURGE. 


WHY  should  we  be  thus  deeply  scourged  ? 
Why  is  it  that  our  country's  merged 
In  such  a  scene  of  heart-felt   woe 
Beyond  description  ?    Dreadful  blow ! 

How  many  dear,  loved  circles  broke; 
How  many  farewell   words  been   spoke! 
Then,  part,  perhaps  to  meet  no  more 
Again  till  all  life's  comfort's  o'er. 

'T  is  hard,  't  is  truly  hard  to  know 
That  we  should  feel  this   scourging  blow, 
This  contest  deep,  this  frigid  gale, 
These  base,  uncomely  acts  assail. 

When  onward  to  the  seat  of  woe 
We  let  our  own  imag'nings  go, 


War's   Dreadful   Scourge.          201 


We  see,  as    through  a  telescope, 
The  harshness  of  the  cruel  stroke. 


We  see,  or  think  we  see,  the  hosts 
There  marshaled  to  their  inland  posts, 
With  all  the  weapons  to  arrest 
And  quell   the  enemy  abreast ; 

To  wound  and  kill,   to   brave  and  take, 
According  as  their  strength   can  make. 
And  so  the  parties,  two  and  two, 
Fight  on,  and  push   the  conquest  through. 

Have  done,  and  done, — are  doing  still, 
Till  hundreds  felt  the  deadly  chill; 
For  from  their  wounds  the  life-blood  rose 
Till  each   and  every  vital  froze. 

While   others,   stiffened,  mangled  lay, 
Perchance  unheeded  for  a  day; 
No  promise   bright,  no  prospect  clear, 
No  welcome  home,  no  friend  to  cheer, 
2G 


202  War's   Dreadful   Scourge. 


But  on  a  low,  rough  couch  of  earth, 
Best  pillow  the  down-trodden  turf, 
These  weary,  careworn  sufferers  lay, — 
Amid  the  fires  of  battle  pray. 

What  suffering!      Can    we  paint  too  bold? 
Methinks  could  never  half   be    told; 
For  who  'mong  mortals  can   express 
The  anguish  of   such  dire  distress? 

I  would  this  war  could  have  an  end, 
Ere  many  more  their  lives  should  spend  ; 
And  love  and  peace  triumphant  reign 
In  our  once  happy  land  again. 


PEACE,    NOT    WAR. 


FEIENDS  and  freemen,  let  us  pity 

And  for  our  country  pray, 
That  this  foul  and  fiendish  slaughter 

Ere  long  may  pass  away  ; 
That  the  sun  which  seems  so  clouded 

May  break  into  our  fold, 
And  the  light  of  peace  so  pleasant, 

We  may  again   behold. 


Heavenly  Father,  wilt  thou  hear  us 

From   yonder  highland  throne, 
And  spread  thy  banners  over  us 

As  e'er  before  hath   known  ? 
We  do  need  thee  in  the  nation, — 

Inspire  the  ruler's  heart, 
That  soon  by  our  rnler's  judgment 

This  error  may  depart. 


Peace,    not    War. 


When  we  think  how  many  hundreds 

And   thousands  in  the  field, 
With  a  poor  and  scanty  ration, 

Thus  subjugated  yield, 
It  does  send  a  thrill  of   sorrow 

Into   the  secret  soul, 
Pangs  of   the   deepest  horror,  such 

That  we  can   scarce  control. 

Let  us  tell  it,  let    us  talk  it, 

From  every  hill-side  bend, 
Until  every  heartless  foeman 

Becomes  a  heartfelt  friend. 
And  let  not  a  transient  spirit 

Attempt  to  make   us   twain, 
But  to  bind  us  nearer,   dearer, 

To  life,  to  live  again. 


THE    DECEASED    SOLDIER. 


THE  following  refers  to  a  friend  who  enlisted  as 
a  soldier  in  behalf  of  his  country  August  2d,  1862T 
was  wounded  at  Gettysburg,  recovered,  and  again 
became  established  where  he  remained  a  true  and 
faithful  helper  until  arrested  by  disease,  which  ter- 
minated his  mortal  course  August  6th,  1864. 


HB  manly  left  his  native  home, 
In  vigor  and  in  pride, 

His  bible,  blanket,  knapsack,  all, 
And  musket  at  his  side. 


His  seeing  eye  with  tears  o'erflowed; 

His  heart  ne'er  faltered   yet, 
And,  with  the  gloom  that  hovered   round, 

He  knew  no  word,  regret. 


206  The    Deceased    Soldier. 


He  eagerly  pursued  his   way, 

Regarding  each  behest, 
Till  brigadier,  and  comrades  all, 

And  each  one  loved  him  best. 

His  ready  place  he  always  knew, 

Until  at   length  he   fell, 
Upon  a  day  in  battle  fray, 

Amid  the  shot  and  shell; 

But  not  to  die.     Upreared  again, 
Once  more  he  took  his  stand, 

A  warrior  true  and  strenuous, 
To  sway  the  rebel  band. 

And  well  he  played  the  soldier's   part, 
Though  strange  it  seemed  to  me 

That  he  was  classed  among  the  sons 
Who  fought  for  liberty. 

Not  that  I  thought  him  less  than  all, 

Or  torpid  in  his  might; 
But  mem'ry  of  those  by-gone  days 

Came  fresh  as  yesternight. 


Ihe   Deceased   Soldier.  207 


I   knew  him  when  a  barefoot  boy, 
With   roguish  plans  on    hand ; 

And  many  a  time  my  eye  has  traced 
His  footprints  in  the  sand. 

How  little  thought  what  time  would  bring, 
Or  e'er  that  foot   would   tread 

Upon  the  battle-field,  among 
The  dying  and  the  dead. 

But  so  it's  been ;    yet,  thankful  we 

To  Him   who  rules  on  high, 
Though  marshaled  to  an  inland  field, 

There  was  not  doomed  to   die. 

But  by  disease  was  swept  away, 
Close  lulled  in  death's  embrace; 

No  more  to    give  the  friendly  hand, 
Or  fill  a  warrior's  place. 

Yes,  gone  beyond  the  battle  ground, 
From  'mong  the  rebel  throng, — 

Where  kindred  meet  in  friendship  sweet, 
The  vigilant  and  strong. 


208  The    Deceased   Soldier. 


Though  tears  may  fall,  and  speech  bewail, 
And  time  seem  long   and  drear, 

Hell  still  sleep  on,  that  lasting  sleep, 
That  knows  no  wak'ning  here. 


THE    WAR    FIEND, 


A  WEAKY   watchword  on   the  wind, 

A  blast  too  rudely   blows 
An  angry  tempest  in  our  land, 

And    bleeding  hearts  o'erflows, 
Not  only  4there  amid    the  throng 

That's  gathered  in  the  field, 
With  nothing  nearer  than  the  heav'ns, — 

The  starry    heav'ns  that  shield, — 
Is  sadly  felt  this  chilling    blast, 

This  tempest  fierce  and   wild; 
But  nearest,  dearest,  tendrils  break, — 

The  mother  and  the   child. 

Could  we  but  trace  where  thousands  trod, 

O'er  mount  and  craggy  dell, 
Or  span  the  rivers    deep  and  wide, 

And  their  low  murmuring  tell, 

27 


210  '  The    War   Fiend. 


Tell  how  has  swept,  is  sweeping  still, 

And  hurrying  away, 
The  dear  and  loveliest  of  our  youth, 

The  sparkling  and    the  gay,  * 
It  then  would  ope  this  tragic   scene 

Of  infamy  in  store, 
Into  the  heart  and    soul   of   man 

As  never  ope'd  before. 

'T  is  such   a  sad,   tremendous   thing, — 

This  horrid   form   of  war, —         . 
That  man    by  man   so  cruelly 

Be  laid  in  drenching  gore 
Upon   a  field  beneath  the  rays 

Of   most  resplendent  light, 
Their  bodies  shivered,  tattered,  torn, 

Amid    an   angry  fight. 
Could  ever  God  or  angels  stoop, 

With  condescending  smile, 
Upon   a  nation   so  enraged, 

A  nation   so  revile  ? 

Methinks  we   never  can   expect 
Promotion   from   on   high, 


the    War   Fiend. 


tin  til   the  error  of   our  race 

Is  left  to  droop  and  die. 
Let  human  wisdom,  then,  direct,— 

Humanity  prevail; 
The  angry   tempest  then   will  sink 

Into  a  peaceful  gale. 
No  more  need  sentinels  be  placed* 

No  more  the  cannon  roarj 
No  more  need  suffering  sons  of   men 

Lie  drenching  in  their 


FAREWELL, 


"THERE  are  those  upon  whose  ear  the  harsh  word 
Farewell  never  breaks." 


BENEATH,    0   heavens,  thy  starry  throne, 

On  some  fair  inland  plain, 
Where  oft  is  heard  the  joyous  bird, 

And  love  lights  not  in  vain; 
Where  scepters  of   a  golden  hue 

Are  borne  with   stately  pride, 
Where  man  rejoices  with  himself, 

His  bonny  and  his  bride; 
Think  ye  that  there   the  farewell    word 

Breaks  not  upon  the  ear  ? 
The  whistling  winds  from   woodland  groves, 

Answer:    Here,— it  is  here. 


Farewell.  213 


Is  there  no  province  in   the  east, 

No  parish  far  away, 
"Where  friendship,  love,  and  happiness 

Bear   one  fraternal  sway  ? 
Where  kindness,  truth,  and  grace  are  borne 

As  on  an  eagle's  wing, 
And  plant  within  the  human  heart 

The  offering  that  they  bring? 
Think  ye  that  there  the  farewell  word 

Could  break  upon   the  ear  ? 
List,  and  a  sound  from  the  low  brooks   would 

Answer:    Here, — it  is  here. 

Could  it  be  in  that  temperate  zone 

Where,  we've  so  oft  been  told 
That  brooks  and  running  rivers  have 

Those  precious  sands  of  gold  ? 
That  the  glittering  ore  lies  buried  deep, 

'Neath  flowing  tide  the  price, 
Beside  which  many  a  miner's  built 

His  fire  of  sacrifice? 
Think  ye  that  there  the  farewell  word 

Ne'er  breaks  upon  the  ear  ? 
List,  and  an  echo  from  a  thousand  hills 

Answers:    Here, — it  is  here. 


Farewell. 


It  cannot  be  within  our  State, 

Where  rude  default  is  found, 
Where  bravely  tread  our  gallant  troops 

Upon  the  blood-washed  ground  j 
Or  where  the  gray*haired  sires  sit, 

Beneath  their  weight  of  pain, 
Bemoaning  that  their  loved  and  lost 

Can  ne'er  come  back  again. 
Think  ye  that  here  the  farewell  word 

Breaks  not  upon  the  ear? 
List,  for  a  voice  like  thunder  from  each  State 

Answers:    Here,— it  is  here. 

It  must  be,  then,  beyond  this  worldj 

Where  joy's  a  fleeting  boon, 
In  that  delightful  hemisphere 

Of  unbeclouded  noon 
Where  happy  spirits  dwell  with  God, 

And  things  celestial  seen, 
Where  waves  the  tree,  the  tree  of  life, 

Of  life,  in  living  green. 
Think  ye  that  there  the  farewell  word 

Breaks  not  upon  the  ear  ? 
Truly,  a  whisper  from  the  uplifted  clouds 

Answers:    Here,^-never  here. 


EPITAPHS. 


A  FAITHFUL  wife  and  mother  kind, 
Her  family  dear  has  left  behind  ; 
To  yonder  home  has  gone  to  meet 
Kindred  around  the  mercy-seat. 


THOU,  daughter  dear,  hast  left  us, 

In  silence  long  to  lay, 
But  we  trust  thy  spirit's  soaring 

In  realms  of   brighter  day. 


AWAY  to  yonder  lofty  sphere 
The  unbound  soul  hath  flown; 

On  wings  seraphic  took  its  flight, 
To    worship  God  alone. 


216  Epitaphs. 


THE  fairest  flowers  of  earth  must  fade; 

The  noblest  sure  must    die; 
Earth  has  no  sacred  hallowed  boon, 

Or  rest  beneath  the  sky. 
But  transient  moments,  when  have  passed, 
Bring  life,  unchanging  life  at  last. 


His   body,  embalmed    and    in  soldier's  garb, 

Was  tenderly  borne  to  the   tomb. 
We  mourn,  though  his  hope  of  salvation  thro'  Christ 

Expels  the  dark  shadows  of  gloom. 


Now  every  care  has  passed  and  gone, 
No  thoughts  involve  the    breast, 

But  in  thy  silent  hiding  place 
Thou  'It  sleep  and   be  at  rest. 

Our  maker's  eye  attends  the   spot, 

Nor  wilt    thou  ever  be  forgot. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-lGOm-9,'52(A3105)444 


PS             Roseboom  - 
_2£^ Tho  lawgii 

R72  1 


PS 

273h 
R72  1 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS2734   .R72I 
V 


L  009  590  002  3 


